Mega Man: Guiding Rainbow's Light
by Erico
Summary: Before Mega Man X, before Mega Man...There was a man with a dream. Before the age of robots, humanity faced one last struggle. Before he was tired and gray, he was young and bold. This is the unspoken tale. This is the story of Dr. Thomas X. Light.
1. Prologue: The Dreams We Had

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric 'Erico' Lawson

**Prologue: The Dreams We Had**

_May 12__th__, 2039_

_Franklin University, United States_

They couldn't have asked for a better day to do this. The sun was shining brilliantly, and after a straight week of rainfall, it was a welcome sight to the class of 2039. Trees bloomed in lush greenery, and long dormant flowers fluttered outwards in triumphant ceremony. Grass as green as Elysian fields, and a sky that would have made Picasso's blue period pale. The only thing missing, were a sardonic witness present to make a comment, was a flock of chirping songbirds floating from tree to tree.

Nothing could ruin the graduates' moment, though. Fathers and mothers beamed with intense pride at their children, and despite the stuffy sensation of the long famed scholar's robes and flatboard caps, the students didn't mind. For all the years it had taken to make it this far, they could wait a while longer.

The President of the College was in rare form today, one particular graduate thought to himself with a smile. Doubtless there had been some measure of alcohol involved; with a speech this important, there was always a confidence boosting shot nearby.

"…And as the class of 2039 moves out into the world, I offer our new graduates these last closing remarks before we begin to hand out diplomas. Remember, always, that you have been given great knowledge within these learned halls, and that with your acquired skills, you will change the course of the world. There is much to be done in the new age, but with such capable young men and women entering the professional world…"

"Sheesh, what a chatterbox." A young woman muttered, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms primly on her lap. "He would keep this up all day if he didn't have to get back in time for tonight's football game."

"Oh, give him a little budge room, Lisa." The slightly older man beside her said with a smirk. "It's not every day he gets to give an important speech. And you know what these great educators are like; They do love to boost up their accomplishments."

"I do believe our friend Tom here has uncovered their dirty little secret." Another man on the opposite side of the young Lisa said with a grin underneath the mop of his bright red hair that refused to hide underneath his cap. "But let's see how sharp he is otherwise today, hmm?"

"Still placing your bets, Rick?" Tom chuckled, rolling his eyes mockingly before managing another grin. "Still, I'm game. All right, so what's your guess?"

"I'd say three shots." Rick said flatly. "He's got quite a head of steam underneath him right now…I imagine there's another five minutes within that speech, and he'll repeat his ideas a few times over."

"Oh, I think you give him a little more credit than he deserves." Lisa scoffs. "One shot, that's all the old goose can handle."

"No, I'm thinking two." Tom said, after a moment of thought. To summarize, he uttered a quick phrase in some foreign language, prompting his two friends to glance at him with a raised eyebrow.

"All right, and now for those of us that didn't graduate with a Masters' in Communication with specialties in nearly every language on the planet?" Rick uttered with a snort. "Especially Russian, you goof."

Tom reached up and scratched absentmindedly at his dark brown hair, even as his bright blue eyes twinkled in their mirth. "Misery loves company."

"…Remember and treasure always the lessons you have learned here at Franklin University. Named after the great inventor and idealist himself, you carry his creative spirit within you. Whatever road life gives you, walk it proudly and without fear. Here and now, I challenge you all; _Make your own destiny._"

The same obligatory applause that accompanied each of his speeches echoed through the crisp spring day, and the three College friends looked at each other, silently tabulating their bets.

"He didn't make five minutes." Rick muttered dejectedly. "Shoot."

"No, I'd say our dear friend Lisa wins this round." Tom decided, smiling. "So, what's your pleasure, miss?"

"The both of you are coming with me to dinner with my family." Lisa smirked. "And no good trying to find an excuse; I happen to know for a fact that Rick's parents couldn't make it."

Rick groaned, and Tom winked at him. "She's your fiancée, not mine."

"Don't remind me." Rick grumbled, getting an elbow to the ribs from the slightly irritated Lisa for his trouble.

"The class of 2039 will now rise." The President announced, lifting his arms up high within the folds of his long ceremonial robe. They did so, even as Tom exhaled a long breath from his lungs.

"Nervous?" Lisa asked with a grin. Tom chuckled a bit and shook his head.

"Maybe a little…I mean, Look at me." To emphasize his phrase, he glanced down at his robes, which held far more adornments than anyone else around him. "I'm the only person here who's walking out with a Doctorate instead of a Bachelors in my class."

"See what happens when you stay for eight years?" Rick snickered. "Aah, who'm I kidding? I'm glad you did, Tom. If you hadn't stuck around, me and Lisa would have never gotten a chance to meet such a terrific guy."

To that, the fair spirited Tom couldn't argue, and his smile seemed endless as he looked around. Already, the first row was lining up and walking up to the podium as the named began to be read.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the young man with the ruffled brown hair who was known as Tom couldn't help but think that there was something strangely surreal about the entire moment. Something worth holding onto…something worth remembering.

So he did.

The line at last reached their section.

"Richard James Williamson." The President announced smoothly. Applause, and then Tom watched his longtime roommate stroll across with that same grin of his. Tom chuckled at that…he'd never change.

"Lisa Katrina Marine, magna cum laude." The applause grew louder, and some of the graduating class whistled. Lisa had always been a beautiful woman, and beamed all the brighter underneath her auburn hair that day. Tom smiled softer, thinking how lucky Rick truly was. Perhaps some day…Bah, no use thinking about that now.

And then he took a breath. He was next. He could see the President glance down at the name, smile, and turn to face him.

The leader of the College didn't need a list to remind him who came next.

"Thomas Xavier Light…_summa_ cum laude." The applause was mixed; the partygoers could care less. The truly academic cheered with full force.

The President hadn't stated it, but Tom Light had taken a look at the program.

He was the only one who graduated with a Doctorate that day. Slowly, he felt himself walking up, shaking the President's hand, and accepting a diploma that carried far more weight than anyone elses' that day.

And he knew full well the responsibilities that came with it.

The world was growing more tense every day, and some would always make predictions about some great end…But for now, nothing was farther from his mind.

"Congratulations…Dr. Light." The President said, positively beaming.

Thomas chuckled at that, not quite believing what he was hearing. At age 26, he was a Doctor in Communications, with an undergraduate degree in Programming.

"Thank you sir." Tom said, nodding his head downwards in appreciation.

"You'll do something marvelous, I just know it." The President said with twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks…maybe he had partaken of two drinks this go-around. "Of that, I have no doubt, Light."

"I'll certainly try, sir." Thomas replied, shaking his hand one last time and strolling off the stage. There waiting for him were Rick and Lisa, beaming back at him with knowing smiles.

They had made it.

All those hard and frustrating years…

And they had made it.

The world was theirs.

* * *

Tom had to admit that he felt a lot better once he was out of his ceremonial robe and back into his normal clothes. Bright blue button down shirt, an even bluer tie, and a set of brown khakis completed his ensemble. He didn't look at all out of place as his company sat within the confines of the themed restaurant, which offered a mix of Irish and American cuisine. The meal had come and gone, and they were sitting around nursing the remains of their drinks as they waited for the bill to arrive.

Lisa's father was a physically imposing man, but his normally stoic manner couldn't have been farther. Instead, an unusual smile graced his features as he took another long draw on his draft beer.

"So you all finally made it." He said, shaking his head. "I've been waiting for this day for some time, you know. But what comes next?"

Lisa smiled a bit as Rick drew her in closer with a hug. "Well, daddy, we have been thinking about setting an actual date at some point…"

"Oh, I know." Her father replied, chuckling. "And yes, you might as well get started on that. Lord knows if I hadn't agreed to you two, you would have run off and done it anyhow. Still, time's running out if you were thinking about doing it soon."

"We were thinking early August, actually." Rick interjected. "June weddings get so overplayed, and it's too late to get reservations for then now."

"So what sort of ceremony are you two lovebirds aiming for?" Thomas Light asked, smiling over his own sparkling water. Rick and Lisa shared another one of their knowing smiles before looking back at the rest of their table.

"Just a small one…in the presence of our closest families, and our closest friends."

"Aah, you mean the cheap kind." Tom said with a grin. That prompted a laugh from both of the lovebirds, although it received some cold stares from her parents.

"Our baby will get the best kind of wedding money can buy." Lisa's mother said, her thinning brown hair pinned up tightly behind her head.

"Oh, stop it." Lisa chided them, shaking her head. "I know how much you want to make my wedding day special, mom…but we really do just want a small ceremony. No big party, no grand reception…it's too much hassle, and we've had enough hassles for some time."

"Not nearly as much as old Tomboy here." Rick grinned, glancing in his friend's direction. "Correction; Doc Light."

"Oh, stop it." Thomas Light blushed, shaking his head. "I just stayed a few extra years, that's all."

"So what does the future hold for you, then?" Lisa asked. "I mean…you've got a doctorate now. You can go anywhere, do anything!"

At that, the newly proclaimed doctor smiled. "Maybe I can, but…No, I've only a few things I'd like to accomplish in my time."

"Going to make some money, eh?" Mr. Marine said, his eye twinkling. "Lisa, it's never too late to marry the sure thing…"

"Oh, stop it daddy!" Lisa laughed, giving a dejected looking Rick a kiss on the cheek.

"Seriously, though. I don't see myself getting too rich and famous." Thomas Light said, his bright blue eyes peering down into his glass of wine. "Not too many people get rich off of their dreams."

"And what's your dreams then?" Mrs. Marine queried.

"I've spent a lifetime…learning every language I could." Thomas Light said slowly. "And while I was here, I spent almost as much time learning how to work with computers, and how to get them to communicate. Networks…" He shook his head, a whimsical smile beginning to develop. "There's a lot of tensions around this world, most of them stemming from the fact that even as technology continues to develop, humanity is separating itself more and more."

"You think you can bring the world together?" Rick queried, tilting his head to the side.

At that, the linguist blushed a bit. "Well…we can only try." He finally said quietly.

The waiter came by and put the bill on the table. Rick took one look at it and paled, even as Mr. Marine reached over casually to pay for it all.

An eyebrow went up at the price. "One hundred and twelve dollars?" The waiter nodded, his face seeming apologetic.

"I do apologize, sir…the shortages and all."

Mr. Marine sighed for a moment, then smiled and pulled out a credit card. "Well, a day like today doesn't come along often. Don't worry, friends and future family…I'll cover the tab today."

"You're far too gracious." Thomas stated, even as he smiled in relief. "I'll have to find a way to pay you back some day." The waiter took the credit card up to the register, slipped it through, and returned it in a few moments with ease.

Mr. Marine smiled as they all stood up. "Don't worry about it, Doctor. Something tells me you have enough worries on your hands, what with all those College bills to see to."

Light's smile faded a bit. "Yeah…I suppose so." Rick gave him an odd glance, but everyone else missed it.

"So where shall we go next?" Lisa asked excitably.

Thomas Light pulled his dark blue overcoat onto his shoulders before shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask to be excused from any further adventures for today…I've some other people to visit to finish celebrating."

The Marines all nodded, but Rick followed him outside even as the newly proclaimed Doctor Light approached his motorcycle and started up the engine, which settled into a low purr.

There was a flash of concern in Rick's eyes. "Going to visit your parents?"

Light was, for a change, emotionless as he tied back the windstraps on his coat. "Yeah. It's that time again."

"I don't begrudge ya." Rick said softly. "But don't stay too long with them. You've got your own life to live now, you just remember that."

"I know." Dr. Light replied, pulling his helmet up and sliding it over his head, glancing through the thick black and ivory tinted sunglare visor. "You just worry about taking care of Lisa and her folks."

"You got it." Rick chuckled. "Keep in touch, bud. It won't be too much longer before me and Lisa are going to start working on making some grandkids for her folks, and we'll need you around to be their fairy godfather when the time comes."

Underneath his helmet, Thomas Light couldn't help but smile at the visual image of Rick as a father, as goofy as he was. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, friend." He said, nodding his head. Rick took a few steps back away from the curb and gave his former roommate one last nod.

In the small roar of an engine gunned to full power, Dr. Thomas Xavier Light shot out of the restaurant's parking lot to join the mainstream of traffic. What he had told Rick was true.

There were still promises to be kept.

* * *

_Rohannesville Cemetary_

_Rohannesville, Indiana_

_Late that Evening_

Despite the 'marvels of modern technology', as some called it, it still took forever to get anywhere. The roads had only gotten more cluttered as the years went by; a sobering fact for the lone visitor to the old cemetery.

Rohannesville lay at the southern end of the state, surrounded by green pastures and open farmland. Nobody came by there much, and the town itself was a dying entity. The schools had closed down and joined with a nearby school district shortly before he'd entered into high school. Still, Tom could remember the long nights spent stargazing while his folks drank iced tea out on the porch; the same porch where he'd eventually gotten his first kiss from Peggy Schuler down the street. Most of Rohannesville was just an old folk's town; it had no real industry to speak of, and everywhere one looked, it carried the signs of eventual abandonment.

It was home nonetheless.

Pulling his leather gloves off as he walked away from his motorcycle, the young Light carried a box under one arm. He'd carefully tucked it in his ride's storage compartment after the graduation, knowing it had to survive the ride here. All of today had been a happy occasion, cause for celebration…

Only now, did Thomas Light revert to a more somber tone.

"Hey mom." He said quietly, stopping at a nearby dual headstone. His eyes glanced to the next name. "Hey dad. I came back." He opened the box and pulled out its contents; a pair of perfect red roses. He laid them down in front of the headstone and nodded. That, at least, was done.

Some might have found it odd to watch his visit, a man staring and talking to a grave long since settled. Tom thought little of it, closing his eyes.

The headstone listed their dates of birth and their deaths, only three short years before. _Rodney G. Light and Wilhelmina A. Light, died February 14__th__, 2036. You will always be loved._

"…Well, of course I'd come back." Tom reminded himself stubbornly. "I made a promise, and I keep to my promises." He exhaled and started again. "I graduated. I actually did it…Earned my doctorate and everything. And no, dad, it's not useless. I still have that minor in robotic engineering…seems like you can't walk ten feet without tripping over a reason to have some skills in electronic hardware."

Tom chuckled a little at that; His father had been the solid one, always talking about dependable careers. His love of language had come from his mother, who had insisted that it would help him more in understanding people than he'd ever dream to believe. Only her influence had kept him from dropping his major in language studies as a sophomore, all those long years before. She'd even won over his father.

He missed them terribly, but children always would miss their parents.

"So now it's just a matter of what to do now." The young doctor knelt down beside their graves, touching each name reverently. "I've got plenty of ideas. I still believe that interlinking the world is key. The human race will either stand together, or fall divided."

It was a controversial thought; Even at his young age, Tom already had his critics. There were some who believed the world was already interconnected enough, what with the internet, near full broadband access, and viral media.

Somehow, though, little of that had made the world better. Noisier, yes, but not better. Something was missing from it all. That missing piece, whatever it was, had led Light to write his thesis on the idea of a global "Network"…a true second coming of the internet into something so much more than links, squabbling glory hounds, streamed video, blogs and everything else.

"The Network." Light repeated, clinging to the word and whatever inner hope it represented. "It could work."

But, as the nagging voice of his father told him, it could just as well not.

He rose back up and straightened his coat. "The faculty said they knew some friends in high places…I think I'll take them up on it. It'll at least get my foot in the door, give me some honest experience." Tom ran a hand through his wild brown hair. "I just never thought I'd be the kind of guy to end up working at the national academy of the sciences…but I suppose, what better place is there for what I've been trained to do?"

Somehow, the thought tickled him, and he giggled. "Lord, look at me. Right. Somehow, yours truly is going to impress them with my suave charm and my good looks. It'll just be a matter of trying to prove to them that somebody who earned his highest degree in communications belongs with them, and not in the State Deparment."

It wouldn't be easy; somehow, he suspected it even then. It didn't matter as much then, though; He had but the weight of his own responsibility on his shoulders.

Nobody else was tied to his fate or his decisions in life. Tom liked it like that. Responsibility had made his father into a tired old man who couldn't see the glimmers of magic in things. Thomas Light was many things, but he was not his father.

"Wish me luck, mom and dad." Thomas Light said softly. "And know that I love you."

The graves remained quiet, but somehow, Tom felt as though the message had gotten through. He nodded respectfully one last time, then turned about and left the last of his family behind.

At twenty-six years old, Dr. Thomas Xavier Light moved into a future he couldn't predict, but one he stepped into with great hope. The words of his College president, spoken to him earlier that day, rang in his ears and left a bounce in his step.

_Make your own destiny._

He climbed back on his motorcycle, adjusted his helmet and gloves one last time, and started the engine, throttling it to a purr.

Thomas looked up at the clear night sky and found himself smiling.

"Time to change the world."


	2. Hopeful Living

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter One: Hopeful Living**

"_The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom."_

_-Isaac Asimov_

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Redmond, Washington_

_May 20__th__, 2039 C.E. (Common Era)_

_8:49 A.M._

There was something humorous to be said about the location of the vaunted National Science Institute; Created during the short-lived "Green Living" movement of the 2010's, the building had been set in the picturesque landscape of the Pacific Northwest.

It was also a short drive from several of the world's major video game headquarters, regional or otherwise. The scenery was somewhat more pleasing, however.

An unfamiliar motorcycle raced up the road to the parking lot, swerving its way into a spot and falling quiet. Its rider flipped out the kickstand and climbed off of it, then reached to unstrap the fake leather briefcase that had been tied behind him.

After all that was done, he carefully removed his helmet and took a moment to stare towards the building with an appreciative nod.

It was a few decades old, but the structure had been built on solid architectural principles, along with a few eccentricities in the design. With lush foliage of Washington redwoods and gardens all about the perimeter, the white-walled complex was warmer and more inviting than he would have originally guessed.

"It looks like a mountain retreat." Dr. Thomas X. Light commented, setting his helmet on the handlebars of his 'hog and unbuttoning his leather jacket. "But it's the correct address." He checked his watch; Still a few minutes early, but all the better to make a good first impression. He had no intention of screwing this one up.

* * *

He didn't say anything as he walked through the building's revolving glass doors. Pristine marble floors and the wafting smell of carefully tended plants invited him in, seeming more like a museum than a building meant for scientific advancement.

It was also incredibly busy, with people running back and forward in all directions.

Dr. Light lifted up his rider's sunglasses and nested them in his brown hair. "I could get used to this." He mused. He dipped his free hand into his khaki's pants pocket and brushed the side of his black leather jacket back. "Nice ambience, good location…"

A fellow in a white lab coat came stomping by, and Thomas nodded at him. "Hey there. I was wondering if you might…"

"I'm busy, sorry." Came the brushoff, and the grim man continued on his way.

Tom winced. "Well, so much for friendly people."

He walked up to the front desk and leaned on it. The receptionist seemed quite busy, chattering over the wireless headset she wore and typing on her keyboard. "…Yes, I've confirmed your flight, sir. No, no I didn't check to see if they served mineral water. I…" She winced. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Have a good day, sir. We'll see you when…"

The person on the other end of the line must have hung up, because she stopped midsentence and let out a groan. The receptionist took a moment to compose herself, then whirled, none too happily, to address the newcomer.

"Can I help you?" She snapped.

Tom jumped a little bit, but managed a weak laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I'm…"

"Deliveries are accepted at the back entrance." The receptionist interrupted coldly. She turned back to her computer and began ignoring him.

Tom frowned for a moment and gave his clothes a once-over; True, he wasn't in a full business suit, but he'd learned early to dress comfortably, and outside of a few very special occasions, never broke that tradition. Still, even though he wore a light blue T-Shirt, brown khakis and a black motorcycle jacket, he'd never been dismissed as a delivery boy before.

He tapped on her counter again and cleared his throat. The receptionist glowered at him, and pushed her glasses down to peer over their rims. "What?"

"I'm not here for a delivery, ma'am." He explained in his best drawl. "I work here. Starting today."

The receptionist blinked. "I beg your pardon?" She went to an old-fashioned paper timesheet and sifted through it. "I'm sorry, but the only person scheduled to report to us today was a Doctor Thomas…"

"Tom Light." He held out his hand and smiled at her. "A pleasure."

The secretary went red in the face. "I'm…I'm terribly sorry, doctor, I didn't know you would be so…"

"Few do." Dr. Light winked, knowing she'd meant to say _young_. "Now then. I've got an appointment with Doctor Randall Simdorn at nine, so if you could direct me to his office…"

The receptionist pointed down the end of the hall behind her, to the elevators. "The Director, eh? He's on the second floor, right corridor. Can't miss him." She shuffled behind the counter for a moment and proffered up a laminated visitor's badge. "Here. This'll get you around until you get your own."

Thomas fingered it, noting the magnetic strip along its edge. "Barcode entry, eh?"

"Welcome to the Institute." The receptionist smiled again, giving him another nod.

He smiled back and excused himself, then walked to the elevator, punching the button.

He stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor, then took a step back.

"Hold the door! Hold the door!!" An insistent woman's voice suddenly exclaimed. Running on instinct alone, he shoved his arm out of the elevator's entryway and stopped the doors from sliding shut.

His first look at the twenty-something year old woman would be the one which would stay with him the longest, through all the rest of his long years. There would be other images of her, from other times when she meant more and was more, but first appearances truly were the enduring ones.

Her golden blond hair was tied back with a braid done for convenience's sake rather than looks. Bright green eyes were held wide and captive behind her glasses, and her unbuttoned white lab smock revealed a smooth red blouse and green skirt. She was casual without being slovenly, and flushed from the dash, holding a pile of papers against her chest to keep them from falling apart.

Somewhere in that prime glance, Tom realized he'd fallen in love.

"Thank you." She breathed, when the elevator doors shut and they began to rise. "I didn't think I'd make it."

"In a hurry to get someplace?" He asked, giving her a genial smile.

"It feels like I'm always in a hurry to get someplace." She smiled back, beginning to sift through her papers. "But today's worse than others. I've got a presentation to make to my superior in ten minutes, and I feel like…"

"Like you're totally unprepared for what's behind those doors." He summarized, seeming to read her mind. The woman paused and looked at him carefully. He held out his hand and grinned at her, an infectious expression he'd spent years perfecting. "Thomas Light."

She smiled back and shook his hand. "Vanessa Tercel."

"Pleased to meet you."

Vanessa nodded. "I don't remember seeing you around here before…"

"Something tells me that I could work here for a year and you still wouldn't know me." He observed dryly. She blushed at the comment, and he laughed to break her shame. "Don't worry. Your mind's other places; goes with the territory, I think." He put his hand into his trouser pocket again. "But you're right; I'm new here. This is my first day."

"Really?" Vanessa asked, her curiosity piqued. "Just what are you going to do here at the Institute?"

"Well, I'll be working with communications, mostly…"

"You're THAT Doctor Light?" Curiosity faded away for open awe. "Everybody's been wondering about who the new hire was…"

"Guilty." Thomas shrugged. "So, do I meet your high standards?"

"Well, we're pretty relaxed around here." She began thoughtfully. "You might want to lose the leather jacket for a lab coat, but…"

"I wasn't asking about the Institute's opinion." Tom winked at her.

Vanessa blushed again, but became quickly defensive. "Wear whatever you want. I could care less."

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out, grateful for the reprieve. "It was nice talking with you." She mumbled apologetically, scuffling off down the corridor.

"Knock them dead, Vanessa!" He called after her, stepping out and grinning all the wider. She didn't look back, of course, and disappeared into the maze of the Institute's halls.

Tom let out a long sigh and swung his briefcase over his shoulder. "Damn." He muttered. "I forgot to ask which section she worked in…"

He could deal with that later, of course. For now, he had his own appointment to keep.

"Right corridor. Can't miss it." He checked his sunglasses one last time and started walking.

* * *

"Aah, there you are! Come in, my boy! Damned good to see you. Damned good!"

Five seconds into his meeting, Thomas Light decided that the Director of the Institute was one of those gentlemen who fit into the "Crazy old bastard" category. The white-haired man gave him a broad smile and slapped him so hard on the shoulders that his head spun.

"Come on in. Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir." Tom said, fully grateful for the reprieve as he sunk into the fake leather chair.

"So, did you have any trouble finding the place?" Dr. Simdorn asked.

"Not really."

"Good to hear, good to hear. And you're all settled in?"

"I've got an apartment, if that's what you mean."

"Good, good. Saves me the trouble of putting you up at my place." The old man laughed. He sat down at his desk and leaned in towards Light. "Good thing, too. I happen to have a daughter about six years younger than you at home…No sense risking temptation, eh?"

Light paled, and the old man laughed again. "Relax, relax. I'm just teasing you. Still, I was thrilled to hear that you wanted to come work with us."

"The Institute brings together some of the brightest minds in the country." Light replied. "It just seemed like I could do the most good here." It was a pale answer, but the best he could manage. The director of the Institute apparently had a habit of repeating everything he said twice; it was likely a verbal tic, a way to stall for time, much as most people used uhms to stretch out their speech.

"So you can, my boy. So you can." Dr. Simdorn drummed his fingers on his desk. "A doctorate in languages and communication, and your secondary field was programming. An interesting combination. Any particular reason?"

"It just felt right." Thomas admitted. "I've always liked studying other languages. You can understand different countries and peoples by learning their tongue."

"Indeed." Dr. Simdorn nodded. "I'm fluent in French myself as well…but according to your resume, you're fluent in…"

"Japanese, Chinese, French, Russian, Spanish, Latin…" Light continued on for a while, counting them off on his fingers. "…Dutch, German, Hindi, and Gaelic."

Dr. Simdorn lifted a bushy eyebrow. "Gaelic?"

Thomas gave him a sheepish look. "I needed at least one language that was fun. It's about the only one you can proposition a girl with and not expect to get slapped by somebody in a crowd for."

"That, and it sounds positively primal." His superior remarked. "Well, I have to say, Tom, it'll be unusual having you aboard. You'll have your own office, of course, and your own laboratory. As for a staff, however…"

"Don't worry about it." Tom waved off the old man's concerns. "I'm used to doing things on my own. I'll be all right for now."

"Have you given thought to what your first project is going to be?"

"I've got a few ideas." Thomas Light smiled, tapping on his wrist. "So tell me. How open is the Institute? Are we able to fraternize?"

"You mean, can you discuss your projects with other scientists here at the Institute?" The Director queried, scratching at his head. "Well, there's nothing against it. We don't believe in cloak and dagger stuff here; Other thinktanks tied to the military may be, but we like to think of ourselves as a public interest. No, you can talk about your projects all you like; it's your call on how secretive you want to be." The old man winked. "Of course, around this time of the year, people really start to bottle up about what their department's working on."

Light raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why would that be?"

"Well, we all earn a decent clip of money; enough to support a modest standard of living, though the politicians earn about twice as much…But the real moneymaker around here is the annual review from the Congressional Budget Committee."

"Come again?"

"Boy, you really don't know what you're stepping into, do you?" Director Simdorn readjusted his glasses. "Once a year, our little side projects are given a chance to really shine: See, it's an open contest; whoever comes up with the best idea, the new insight of technology which will serve to better our country, and most likely as it's been in years past, the world, gets a cushy government grant beyond the Institute's normal budget, and a chance to put it into action."

"How very Darwinian." Tom observed.

"Survival of the fittest, yes, but the best ideas are the ones that float to the surface afterwards. It helps to keep this places' reputation alive…not to mention, it keeps the politicians from giving us the axe. They can't afford to lose what we do here. They never know which bright idea they'll need next."

"What was last year's winning project?"

"Remember when the government announced that they were putting out an open patent for free development on free-hover magnathruster technology?"

"The magnetic repulsors which use the earth's own magnetic field to get off the ground?" Light clarified in surprise. "That came from here?"

"All good things do, m'boy." Director Simdorn smiled. "All good things do."

"So just how many departments do we have here in the Institute?"

"When all's said and done, I think we have around fourteen R&D teams at work."

"I suppose that would make my department the "Fifteenth Unit", then?" Light proposed cheerfully.

"Next you'll start giving us all color-coded costumes and mecha which form giant attack robots." Dr. Simdorn laughed. "Relax. Most of the departments keep to themselves; urban redevelopment and agricultural studies, for instance, I don't think you'll be seeing a lot of them."

"I probably won't be seeing a lot of any of them, if I'm going to have a project ready by this deadline of yours in a month."

"I went ahead and took the liberty of tossing a bed in your office along with the coffee maker." The Director pointed out. He readjusted his glasses, unfazed by the odd look. "Trust me; the first time you decide to work late and can't drag yourself back home, you'll be glad it's there. I think it'd be easier to have our own dormitories here on site, almost…but I, like most of the others, value a separation of professional and personal lives."

"That's a sentiment I can agree with."

"Well, all right then." The Director stood up and clapped his hands together. "What say we send you on your way to your new work quarters, eh?"

"Aren't there any procedures I need to know about? Company guidelines?"

Dr. Simdorn tilted his head to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, I just assumed that there'd be some rules and regulations…"

"Oh, right." The grandfatherly old man nodded his head, then set a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Well, let's see here…Uhh, always flush after you're done, that's a big one…We don't mind long distance calls, but if it's non-work related, we'll charge you for it…We don't really have a dress code outside of no fishnet shirts, and for the love of God, keep the family jewels stowed away…"

Thomas Light cleared his throat. "That's it?" He asked incredulously. "No security guidelines? No 'chain of command', or 'file this form in triplicate?'"

Dr. Simdorn blinked at him. "What did you expect? The military?" The old man threw his hands up in the air. "We're SCIENTISTS! We'd have no room to think the big thoughts if we had to spend every waking moment worrying about the little details!" He let out another laugh and reached underneath his desk. "Jiminy Christmas, Light. Relax. I've worked very hard to make sure this place didn't get mucked up in the bureaucracy. Just keep your nose clean, try not to kill anyone, and we'll be able to keep it that way."

"I'll try, sir."

"Oh, and before I forget, there is one more thing." Simdorn said, keeping the newest member of the Institute from leaving his office. The young twenty-six year old doctor waited patiently. Director Simdorn smiled and pulled out a garment of white fabric, enclosed in biodegradable plastic. "Welcome aboard…Doctor Light."

Light couldn't hold in the beaming smile as he unwrapped the brand new white laboratory coat and unfolded it. He quickly switched off his black leather jacket for the smock, and whirled himself about in it. "Can I keep it?"

"Yours for life, son." Simdorn grinned. "One free with every stint in the madhouse. You'll find your office on the first floor, west wing…Hope you don't mind, but we had to put you by the Robotics and Cybertechnology department."

"Anything I need to worry about?"

"If you hear swearing in German, it means that they failed another experiment." Simdorn grinned. "Of course, that's just par for the course with our chief mad scientist."

"Who?"

"Aah, you'll meet him soon enough." Simdorn shrugged him off, ushering him for the door. "Remember, big thoughts!"

Light stopped before Simdorn could fully exhume him from his office. "Sir? There is one favor I'd like to ask."

"Well, I'm not in the business of granting wishes, but I'll consider it if it's reasonable." The old man folded his arms. "What's on your mind?"

Light mulled over the sentence carefully in his head. How he phrased this next sentence could either bring suspicion down…or just leave his superior thinking he was following up on a prior encounter. "Earlier today, I met a woman by the name of Vanessa Tercel. She dropped a pen in the elevator, and I'd like to return it to her…but I don't have the faintest idea where she is in this place."

"It can get awfully zoo-ey around here." Simdorn agreed. "But luck's on your side today, Good Samaritan. Miss Tercel is an associate resident in the Robotics department…right next to where you'll be stationed."

Light smiled at that, more coyly than he had intended. "Well, isn't that convenient…"

"All right, enough lollygagging!" Simdorn laughed, slapping Light across the back and knocking him out into the corridor. "Big thoughts, Light! BIG!"

The door slammed shut, and the brown-haired polyglot gave his head a shake as he walked away.

"The man's absolutely nuts." He muttered under his breath. Somehow, though, he was smiling.

It was a kind of crazy he might just like being around.

* * *

His "Laboratory" was small and cozy, even in its barren state. It had only taken him three minutes to empty out his briefcase, power up his desktop PC, and realize that he had absolutely no clue where to begin. Eventually, his workspace would be cluttered by documents, bits of machinery, and whatever supplies he requisitioned. For the moment, it was a blank slate.

He spent a half an hour trying to put some coherent thoughts together. The "Contest" to be held in a month should have held his interest; There was no better opportunity to put his theories to work than for that one great test.

Unfortunately for the young and intrepid linguist programmer, dreams of Networks and an interconnected world would have to wait. Thomas Light had Vanessa Tercel on the brain, and everything else was a moot point. He finally shoved his notes aside into the top drawer of his desk and screen-locked his machine.

"I'll just go and introduce myself properly." He resolved, waiting impatiently for his coffeemaker to finish its brew cycle. "There's nothing wrong with that. I'm just meeting people, being a polite neighbor…bringing her coffee…"

He drew a hand over his face and quieted the requisite joke which came with coffee and cream. "Steady on, Tom." He breathed. "It's a little early for that."

The coffeemaker completed its run just in the nick of time, and he reached for the two Institute-labeled ceramic mugs supposedly left by his boss. "It's just a cup of coffee and some chitchat."

A loud thud from the Robotics department stopped his ramblings, and smoke exploded outwards from a glass door which was now little more than broken shards..

"What in the…" Thomas whispered, just as a loud beeping from the fire alarms within the facility began to wail. Being careful not to spill his coffee, he stepped through the remains of the door's frame, crunching glass fragments as he went. "Are you all right in here?"

_"Mein Gott! Nein, nein, NEIN!!" _That was the most logical thing the linguist and programmer heard before the man's voice descended into a series of ranting German that would have made a sailor blush.

Of course, Director Simdorn had warned him about a fellow who swore in German in the robotics department. It seemed that he would get to meet the "Mad Scientist" sooner than expected.

The ventilation fans finally began to have an effect on the acrid air, and the voice swearing in German calmed down enough to scream for somebody to turn off the alarm.

Silence descended on the room, and when the smoke cleared, Dr. Light found himself in the middle of a handful of people, who all stared at the fellow with two coffee mugs as though he were a ghost.

He gave a nervous laugh and held up his coffee mugs. "Uhh…Hey there. I'm your new neighbor. Thought I'd drop by and say hello. Is everything all right?"

He spotted Vanessa Tercel off on the far side of the room. She clearly noticed him, because she turned back about and found her monitor panel to be the most interesting thing in the world.

"No, nothing is all right." The grumbling male voice, which had switched from German to English, explained. Light turned about and looked towards the source.

His counterpart wore blue jeans and a button-down shirt with a red tie underneath his lab coat. Rumpled black hair seemed to jut out from the sides of his head, and the hair over the middle of his scalp already seemed to be receding back from his widow's peak. A bushy mustache, almost comical, complimented the ensemble. By the look of him, he was in his late twenties; older than Light, but still full of youthful spark.

The fellow folded his arms and tapped his foot expectantly. "Are you a fan of career-jarring tragedies or something?"

"Just the ones with smoke." Tom countered, hoping humor was the best approach to defusing the situation.

The black-haired fellow raised an eyebrow for a moment, then cracked a smile and let off a sharp laugh, as shrill as his German had been. "Good answer. So, who are you supposed to be, then?"

"Thomas Light. In charge of the Communications department, I suppose." Light held out a mug of coffee; it seemed the apropos thing to do.

The wild-haired fellow waved it away. "Don't drink the stuff. Albert Wily. My friends call me William, or Will for short."

"Your middle name?"

"Two for two. You're a bright one." Wily remarked. He motioned beside them, to where a charred mess of ozone-festered metal, wire, and burned plastic and circuit boards lay still smoldering. "And this is today's little problem, in case you were wondering."

Light set the coffee mugs aside and bent down on his haunches. "Huh." It seemed like an overglorified erector set, though many robots were just that. "What happened to it?"

"It was supposed to be able to simulate walking." Wily sighed, rubbing furiously at the front of his head. Now, Light understood why he was going bald in the middle. "You've heard of bionic limbs, right?"

"Yes, although they're still rudiment…" Light's voice trailed off, and he looked up to Wily in surprise.

The "Mad Scientist" of the Institute offered a shit-eating grin. "Rudimentary? Not anymore. We perfected the synaptic relays just last month."

"So why this then?" Light asked. "I mean, if you already have a working product, why dabble?"

"For the simple reason that we CAN dabble." Albert Wily retorted. The shock on his face was open and honest. "How else are we to expand the boundaries of the field of robotics?"

Light had to agree with that; It wasn't like there were any moral ramifications to be concerned with, either. Whether it was genetics or artificial intelligence, science and morality could always get mired.

Wily exhaled again and jammed his hands into his pockets. "But that brings us back to our current conundrum." He glanced towards one of his underlings. _"Franz, das wort?"_

"It's Frank, sir." The lab rat explained, with a tone that indicated he'd corrected his superior more than once.

"Yes, yes." Wily sighed, chirping back to perfect English in a moment's blink. "But what's the word?"

The technician adjusted his glasses and looked on his display. "As near as I can tell, the synaptic relays were working perfectly. It's just that…well, the electronic master control couldn't generate signals quickly enough to keep it from locking up."

Over in her corner, Vanessa groaned. "Cascade failure? AGAIN?"

Wily bit his lip. _"Schtupp."_ He muttered underneath his breath. "It always comes back to the processor, doesn't it?"

"Wait a minute." Light interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Everything in here is state of the art, right? Don't you have Triple-Core Processors?"

"They operate at 1.7 Terabits a second, but it doesn't help." Wily corrected him, kicking the melted scrap with his toe. "It's not a matter of processing power, Tom. It's a matter of translation."

"The signals used by the relays to communicate are more complicated than a simple processor core can handle." Vanessa explained, typing at her panel. "Think of it like an American child being asked to read a document in Katakana script. The sounds may be the same, but the wording gums it all up."

Light blinked a few times, then raised his hand. "Do you think I could take a look at it?"

Wily snorted at the idea. "I thought you were into communications, newbie. Isn't robotics a little out of your field?"

Light looked up to Vanessa, who realized too late what he had in mind. "Oh no, don't…" She whispered to herself.

"My doctorate's in communications, but I've got extensive training in programming as well." Light gave Wily an amicable smile. "If you'd be willing to accept my help, I'd see what I could do to help you out. From what you've told me…your machines just don't know how to talk to each other."

"Huh." Wily mumbled, giving his head another scratch. "Well…I've never really gotten help from outside the department before."

"Actually, it's never been offered before." Another technician spoke up, twirling a replacement servo in his hand. "Most people stay as far away from Frankenstein's laboratory as they can."

Wily shot him a withering glare, but the damage had been done. He sighed and turned back to Light with an apologetic shrug. "I'm afraid dingus over there is correct. My department has a reputation for its oddities. You might be doing yourself a disservice to your career by associating with us."

"You know, I might be?" Light mused aloud. "But then, I always figured I had bigger things to worry about than what other people thought of me professionally. So, the way I see it, you can either take the help that's offered, or you can mope around as the mad scientist everybody claims you are."

Albert Wily gave it a long moment's thought, then glanced about the room. Outside of Vanessa's unique scowl, everybody else seemed genial to the notion, and said so with their smiles and nods.

"Well, all right then, Tom." Wily said, extending his hand. "As long as it doesn't interfere with whatever you need to get done in your own department…you're welcome to tackle the problem."

Thomas Light shook his hand, and a spark of static ran between them. They winced for only a moment before the brown-haired doctor gave an approving nod. "I'll make time. We're neighbors now…We might as well get along." He motioned with his head towards Vanessa. "Why don't you have Miss Tercel come by later this afternoon with the program data? I'll give it a once-over."

Wily seemed to balk at the request. "You want HER help? Sure you don't want me to send Frank instead?"

Making a mental note to ask Vanessa about that comment later, Dr. Light shrugged off the suggestion. "No. I know Vanessa. We bumped into each other on the ride up."

"I was wondering why she was late this morning." Wily grumbled. He pulled his hand back and kicked the pile of robotic scrap again. "All right, all right. I'll send her by later with the stuff."

"I look forward to it." Light smiled. Albert gave him a long appraising look, then shook his head and excused himself.

Light took the opportunity to pick up his coffee mugs and stroll over to Vanessa's work station. She tried ignoring him, but Tom proved to be incredibly persistent.

"So. Nice place you've got here. Can I bring the marshmallows next time?"

"Ha ha." She rolled her eyes. "Listen, Light…"

"Tom. Call me Tom."

"Light." Vanessa Tercel corrected him, in no mood for the familiarity that first names implied. "I'm not in the mood for games, and I'm not interested."

"You wound me." Light gasped, faking astonishment. "I'm just introducing myself around the neighborhood, is all. And spreading good cheer."

He set the coffee mug down on the coaster built into her workstation. Vanessa glared at him again. "Are you trying to upstage us here, is that it? Trying to prove you can do what we can't?"

"Where I come from, we don't offer help for any other reason outside of trying to be friendly." Thomas retorted, his irritation finally sincere. "I don't know if that's how it works here, but that's how it was intended."

He leaned over her monitor a bit, and she backed away from him.

Light pursed his lips, then shrugged his shoulders. "All right. I'll leave the choice up to you. You can not come by this afternoon; You can tell your boss 'Will' that I wasn't able to make heads or tails of your software, and that it was a worthless gesture. Or…you can swallow whatever west coast pride I've apparently crashed headfirst into and bring your relay data by my office. Either case, I won't hold it against you. I would like to get to know you better…but I'm not going to let you chew my arm off for offering friendship that isn't wanted."

He took a sip of his own coffee, gave her another headstrong smile, and tapped on her monitor twice. Without another word, Thomas Light swiveled about and strolled out through the broken glass doors of the Robotics department.

Vanessa Tercel blinked her bright green eyes at the most unusual man she had ever known, let out a groan, and looked to Albert Wily for guidance. "Don't make me go."

Wily pulled on his mustache, considering the broken doorway that led to the rest of the Institute. "You know, every so often a rebel manages to fall through the nets of cow-towing bureaucracy. A _wunderkind_, as it were." He waved her off. "I like him. I don't know if I can trust him, but I like him. Drop by his place later today. Take him up on the offer. Let's see if you can do THAT much right without making something explode."

Vanessa, used to his abuse, kept the conversation guided on the original irritation. "I don't feel comfortable around him, Doctor."

"No, you wouldn't." Wily said, a twinkle in his eye which held back some secret knowing. "He's real."

* * *

_The Communications department (Dr. Light's laboratory)_

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Early that afternoon_

She found the doors unlocked, and an unusual sound echoing towards her as she forced herself to walk the last bit of distance to what seemed to her, his lair.

It was faint; at a low volume. Music, Vanessa picked up. By the sounds of it, jazz. She hadn't heard jazz music in ages.

"Hello?" She called out tentatively. Hearing no immediate reply, she strolled in to look for him.

To say the place was sparse would have been an understatement; the open laboratory still smelled of the pine scented cleaner that the janitorial staff used. Of course, he _had_ just moved in. It would take some time before it looked presentable and busy.

What he did have out either showed a tremendous amount of opening effort, or as Vanessa preferred to think of him, a tremendous amount of opening stupidity. There seemed to be little order in how things were strewn about.

One whiteboard was already littered with nonsensical diagrams and arrows; mathematical equations, she could have understood, but the fellow who went by "Tom" seemed to run on a different wavelength. Papers, some with the same sort of drawings and a multitude of others, were scattered across the large central table.

Vanessa set the coffee mug Thomas Light had brought her beside the papers and stared about again. "This place is a disaster." She exclaimed, frowning.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Vanessa spun about towards his voice. Thomas Light rose from his desk, where he'd been hiding behind an expansive flatscreen monitor. He'd discarded the leather jacket and sunglasses for the white laboratory coat common to the Institute, but the unshakable grin remained.

He waved at her, friendly to a T. "I thought you might decide to come by."

"Let's just get this over with." Vanessa sighed. She pulled a portable memory drive out of her pocket and marched over to him. "Dr. Wily wanted you to have these to look over, and I've brought them."

Light sighed as she handed it over. "Do you have to be so curt? I liked you a lot better this morning when you didn't know who I was."

"This morning, I didn't know you were hitting on me."

"What, you have something against interested men?" Light laughed, plugging in the memory device.

"Just doctors." She answered candidly, and left it at that. She moved closer to help explain the data he was going to be looking at, and before the file from her drive came up, she saw what he'd been working on before.

It was programming code, of that there was no doubt. But the complexity at work; multilayered, yet startlingly simple in its approach, caught her off guard. She had thought he was a dabbler…But there was intelligence behind it.

He must have caught her looking, because he chuckled a bit to himself and tapped on the glass. "Don't feel like you have to gush adoration. I've been working on this code for three years now."

Vanessa was by no means a genius when it came to the software side of things. Her specialty was in the mechanics of robotics; servos, wires, and circuitry. Still, she knew enough of computer language to know that she was staring at a better than average accomplishment, even if she had no idea what it was supposed to do.

"Just what is this?" She finally asked, risking a long-winded speech.

"A hope for mankind." Light said, but his voice was off. It felt to Vanessa that he hadn't been speaking to her then, but to whatever ether lay just beyond the waking world.

The blond-haired engineer had heard many boasts and bragging comments over the years. There were always plenty of scientists and inventors who raved that their own insight and development would "Change the world," or "Be a part of every household," or some other boastful claim.

In the years she had been a part of the sphere of scientific development, Thomas Light's answer stood starkly independent. There was no boastful claim in his answer, only a quiet glimmer of some motivation beyond money or fame.

At last, Vanessa realized why the young Dr. Light rubbed her the wrong way, and why Wily had been so intrigued with him.

He was a dreamer.

"No, not that. I mean, what does it do?"

"If everything goes according to plan, you mean?" Light suggested, stealing away the first of the barbs she would have used regardless of his answer. Vanessa hid the blush and nodded, keeping her face straight. "If it works, my dear Miss Tercel, I will have created the first worldwide translator…and the foundations for humanity to interact at a level never before seen."

"You're awfully hopeful." Vanessa mumbled. "How do you know it will work?"

"I don't." Thomas admitted, unfazed by the doubt. "Doesn't stop me from trying."

He saved his work and closed out the program code, then brought up the folder from Vanessa's portable memory drive. "But let's get down to business, shall we? I'd hate to keep you longer than you can stand."

For the first time in her entire visit, Vanessa felt guilty about how she was treating him. She didn't quite know how it had happened, but it had occurred all the same, and there was little she could do about it now except make the rest of the visit somewhat amiable. "I apologize." She offered weakly, searching for some excuse to make her seem less the heartless technician. "It's been a very rough day. My…my presentation this morning didn't go well."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Dr. Light offered consolingly, and somehow she knew that he meant it. "But we all have off days. I wouldn't dwell on it too much; life's too short to stay bitter, right?"

She couldn't resist the urge to cross her arms and size him up again. "Just where did you come from, anyway?"

Sensing an opportunity for humor, Light turned his head about partway and winked at her. "Somewhere between the big rock candy mountain and over the rainbow." After a moment's pause to let it sink in, he laughed and waved her puzzlement away. "Kidding. Indiana, originally."

"Indiana?"

"I attended Roberts University for a couple of years to get some general coursework out of the way, then finished up my Doctorate at Franklin."

Vanessa shook her head. "But you don't look older than twenty-five…"

"Twenty-six, actually." Light pointed out.

"But a Doctorate takes eight years to…" Vanessa paused, staring at him again. "Just when did you graduate from high school again?"

Light winced and turned back to his screen. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Why not?" Vanessa teased him, leaning in closer.

He tensed up for a moment, then sighed as he opened up her file. "Maybe because it works better when people don't know that about me."

"Oh, come on. Did you graduate a year early, was that it?" He didn't say anything, and she pressed on. "A year and a half?"

"You're not going to let this drop, are you?"

"You're the one who wanted to be sociable."

He bit the inside of his cheek. "Fine. But you're off."

"TWO years?" She asked, incredulous.

"Three."

He'd whispered it, and she hadn't heard him clearly. "Come again?"

"I graduated three years early." Stunned silence overrode her, and Light sighed, resting his head on his free hand. "I asked for the General Equivalency exam at the end of my freshman year; passed it with _flying colors_, then moved on. It's no big deal."

"What are you, a genius?"

"Would you like me to be?" He pointedly asked. Vanessa frowned.

"Well, no, not especially."

"Then I'm not one." Light resolved. "Just a friendly gentleman who's willing to offer you some help." He exhaled again and motioned to the screen. "So, is this the programming code for your cybernetic legs?"

"Mostly." Vanessa agreed, circling a few lines with a finger. "There's some added code in there, which we had to add after the first set."

"I see." Light mused. "Who wrote the code?"

"Doctor Wily did."

"He's a programmer too, then?"

"It's not his strongest ability…but he wasn't about to let anybody else touch the code."

"Aah." Light clicked his tongue a few times, then reached for his keyboard. "May I?"

"Help yourself."

He did so with gusto, staring intently at the screen as his hands became a blur. Unlike most people who relied on the ten-finger type method, Light had a modified tactic; he only used the index finger of his left hand and the thumb and first three fingers of his right. It was interesting to watch, and he didn't make a single mistype in the process.

After a few moments, he smiled and started to talk again. "So what was your presentation about this morning?"

"An idea for a self-controlled traffic vehicle."

"A Robocop?" Light mused, harkening back to the titular character from the movies of the late 20th century.

"Not quite. It would more or less be a police cruiser that guided itself along major highways."

"What about the awareness protocols?"

"We've sent probes to Mars for years now that have been able to use their sensors to detect obstacles and go around them." Vanessa boasted. "It's not much of a stretch to create a program for an autonomous vehicle along those same guidelines. That's what traffic is, after all."

"So why did Wily not like the idea?"

"For the same reasons I thought he'd use." Vanessa said, brushing her hair back. "Too complicated. Too many variables. Too many added components to be built into existing highways for the government to endorse."

"I see…" Light mused. His fingers hesitated for a moment, then took off at their gazelle's pace shortly thereafter. "In other words, something that Wily felt the government wouldn't be willing to go through."

"We all have ideas that are impossible." Vanessa offered in her defense. "Maybe in a couple of years, it can happen."

"Maybe." Light turned and smiled at her. "I like it, myself. Sometimes we have to aim high, or else we'll never get to where we need to be." He pulled his hands back from the keyboard and turned to his screen. "Well, how does it look?"

Vanessa gave it an appraising glance. "What did you do?"

"Cleaned it up some." Light answered calmly. "I think I shaved off a few megabytes from the file size. It doesn't solve your initial problem…but it'll make my life easier when I'm staring at it later."

"Just what made you think you could help us out with this?" The technician asked, accepting the portable drive back from Dr. Light when he saved the code to his hard disk. "I mean, now I can see that you're doing just fine, but…"

"I didn't." Light interrupted.

"…What?"

He stood up and put his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, giving her a shrug. "I didn't know if I could, but I was willing to give it a try."

"Why? To impress Dr. Wily?"

"No." Light answered, shaking his head ever so slightly. "I did it so that I'd have a chance to see you again."

"I already told you, I'm not…"

"Interested, yes, I know." He sighed. "Look. There's no hiding the fact that I'm attracted to you, so I won't bother. But just remember, I can push that aside. If I've learned one thing about women, it's that it's better to have them as a friend than to lose them in a relationship."

"So why bring me here, if you knew that?"

"Because something's been rubbing me the wrong way since I walked into your department this morning." He shot back. "Why does Wily hate you so much?"

She winced, turning about and walking away a few feet to consider her answer. "He's not a bad man. He's just a genius when it comes to robotics, and he expects everybody else to be one too."

"I didn't ask what he was like." Thomas reminded her. "I asked you why he hated you."

"He doesn't hate me."

"Fine, then. Why does he _dislike_ you?" He corrected himself, rolling his eyes.

"I…" She paused for a moment, considering the answer. "A year ago, we were working on another one of his projects. A big one; a self-operating deep sea drone. It was going to win us the Contest. I was in charge of doing the final performance checks on the unit. Everything seemed to be running perfectly, and our trial was going beyond our expectations. Then all of a sudden, it just froze up, overheated, and sank like a stone. We lost that year, and when we dragged it up from the seabed, Wily found out why." She bit her lip, pained at the memory. "We hadn't refilled its oil. It literally burned out its motor from friction, and took all the other electronics with it. I wasn't the one who'd forgotten to top off the submersible's fluids, but I was the one who'd been made responsible for the final check…and I hadn't caught it."

"He blamed you."

"It was stupid." Vanessa blurted out, turning on him with more anger than he'd expected. "It was so simple. A half a million dollars worth of equipment on that thing, and I forgot to check the damn oil!"

"You made a mistake. They happen." Light said, trying to calm her down.

Vanessa shook her head. "Not with Wily. He doesn't tolerate mistakes."

"Still, he shouldn't treat you so terribly." Light protested.

Vanessa gave him a weak smile, the vengeful fire gone and replaced with quiet shame. "You're sweet, Tom. Too sweet for this place."

Before he could ask her what she meant by that tired statement, she turned about and dashed for the door.

He scratched his head for a bit, then stared down at the screen of open code that she'd left him.

It would take some doing, but he imagined that a few days of his off-time would bring the project to a positive end.

"Robots." He mumbled, sinking into his chair and staring at the code.

His hand went to the mouse, bringing up his first window of programming language which was, for lack of a better word, his life's work.

"Networks."

Each had their own distinctive ring, and it plagued him. He knew plenty about the second, and not nearly enough of the first. Somehow, though, the two weren't entirely dissimilar. In another time, perhaps…

He shook it off. It was hard to think on those lines while he fretted about Vanessa Tercel, who was so intent on punishing herself for such an innocent mistake that it boggled his mind.

It was hard to think about either project, while his worry for Vanessa kept him from rational thought. In the end, it had to be love, for nothing else could destroy a man so utterly as love. He couldn't recall where he'd heard it; some author in passing, perhaps, or something that he'd heard someone close to him say once.

What he did have, if not an understanding of why his mind was so scattered, was an insight and approach that came from his genius. It brought an idea to the forefold, and he smiled and grinned as it all unfolded within a few seconds.

"Oh, you son of a bitch." He grinned to himself. Beginning to whistle in time with the jazz music that piped in from the background of his lab, he closed the code that Vanessa had given him. "What she's missing is confidence. And nobody can give that to her, so she has to earn it."

_And she'll earn it…by solving a puzzle that even I "Couldn't solve." You are one devious fellow, Tee X.L._

The band hit the melody again, and he whistled in gusto with it, turning back to his own work with a lightened heart and a freed mind. Now that he knew what he had to do, he could get back to work.

It felt good to be a Doctor.

* * *

_The Robotics Department_

_National Institute of the Sciences_

_5:45 P.M._

Nearly everybody was making moves to pack up and go home; they'd put in a full day, after all. Wily was amazed to find that only one of his technicians had yet to even begin closing down their station.

It merited a look.

He pushed back his black hair, reminding himself once again of the bald spot that seemed to grow every year, and stepped towards the space inhabited by Vanessa Tercel. "Working late tonight?"

She froze at her typing, then looked up. Wily gave her a scrutinizing glance, waiting for a response. "I just thought I'd check on a few things for tomorrow."

"I see." Wily murmured, no trace of friendliness in his voice. "So, how did it go with Light this afternoon? You came back in such a rush, after all."

"He said it would take him a while to look through the code."

Wily shrugged. "Well, if he wants to waste his time on a hopeless project, that's his prerogative. We have a project to finish up for the Contest. Did you learn anything about him?"

Vanessa blinked. "You asked me to go and deliver the programming code to him."

"Yes, but I also assumed he'd make some passing attempt at small talk." Wily added, losing his patience. "What sort of a man is he?"

Vanessa Tercel realized at last why he'd sent her; as a spy. It was apparently the only thing he thought her worthy of doing any longer. Crestfallen, she lowered her head and spoke. "He's…just a dreamer." It was the truth, even if a formerly unrecognized pang of guilt ran through her. She paused for a moment before speaking again to ease her conscience. "He's smart, but I don't know if his ideas are plausible."

"A dreamer?" Wily murmured, rolling his mustache. _"Das ist gut, ja. _There's intelligence to him…but he's going to waste it, if that's his course." The 'mad scientist' of the Institute gave his shoulders a shrug. "Hm. I'm partially relieved and partially saddened."

"That's an odd combination." Vanessa said accusingly, beginning to shut down her work for the night. Wily, as always, was beginning to grate on her nerves; she could think of better things to do than be grilled by him.

"But an honest one." Albert William Wily elaborated, grim in a worldly sense. "Dreamers spend all their time coming up with ideas that don't make sense, and nobody will ever pay for. Kind of like your proposal this morning, Miss Tercel. I'd take Dr. Light as an example of what not to become."

"Aren't we here to make a difference?"

"Somewhat." Wily said, shrugging again. "But we always have to keep ourselves in check within the boundaries of feasibility…and public opinion. Our first responsibility is always to our own careers."

"So you're relieved, because you think his career is over before it began?" She accused him, switching off the power to her station.

"This world is connected enough." Wily chuckled. "I don't know what Light expects to accomplish, but we never _needed_ a communications department before. Yes, I'm relieved. He isn't a threat to our work here…or to our hopes at the Contest." The way he phrased the final portion of his sentence, combined with the glower he leveled left no room for misinterpretation. Silently, he had inferred, _Unlike you._

Vanessa clenched her jaw to still the angry tears. "If you're done, I'd like to get home."

Wily held his hands out to the side. "Am I keeping you here? Go on. You've done what I asked you to do without screwing up. I prefer to end on a happy note."

She looked around; everybody else was gone, and it was only her and Wily, the department head, who remained behind. She drew up her courage and finally confronted him; perhaps her time with Thomas Light had caused some of his charm to rub off. A spark of defiance inside her, forgotten for months, struggled to rise again.

"Doctor?"

He sighed. "_Vas?"_

"Why won't you stop mistrusting me? I learned from my mistake, and I've worked harder ever since."

He shrugged, unfazed by her plea for respect. "I also said that I was partially saddened when you told me what kind of a man Doctor Light was like. I've heard of him; he's brilliant, in his own way. It would have been nice if he and I could have worked together…Somehow I think that whatever we decided to create, in unison, could be grander than anything yet devised." The mad scientist gave off a sad smile and shrugged. "But dreamers don't last long in the Institute. They come and go, and I've watched them do it a dozen times over."

He looked at her again, wistfulness replaced with a grim stare. "That's why I don't trust you, Vanessa. It's because for all the growth you've made since your unforgivable lapse in judgment, you're still a dreamer at heart."

The tears she'd been suppressing for too long finally swelled out. She excused herself in a shaky voice and ran, eyes moist before she could escape the (Still broken) glass doors of the robotics laboratory.

Wily took a look about the empty space, considering the day's events with his analytical mind. Without the human presence of his comrades, it had a very lifeless and sterile appearance. He sighed and walked over to his coat rack, exchanging his white smock for a black overcoat and a purple and golden scarf.

"There's no room for dreamers in this world." He remarked, perhaps as much for his own ears for the ghosts of Vanessa and Thomas Light which lingered in his thoughts. At times, he lived a very lonely life; he was dedicated to his work, and only his work.

Most days, though, he didn't let such thoughts bother him. He preferred a life without voices or lingering doubts to plague his thoughts.

That was why the silence of his quiet laboratory didn't faze him, even when he turned off the lights and left through the shattered doors.

He was a man that few understood.

Walking into the early night, Dr. Albert William Wily found no reason to be ashamed of that.

* * *

_The Apartment of Dr. Thomas Light_

_Just outside Redmond, Washington_

_May 20__th__, 2039 C.E._

_8:43 P.M._

Dinner had been light; he'd visited a quaint little bistro downtown on the advice of Director Simdorn, and had a salad with an olive oil vinaigrette. Anymore, the prices on nearly everything was becoming somewhere between outlandish and outrageous. Most economic forecasts said it would only get worse.

Oil, of course, which had (much to the shame of the last half-century's laziness) been the lifeblood of the world's nations, was also highly priced as reserves everywhere depleted. It was the main reason, outside of any obscure romantic notions of a rogue on the highway, why Light drove a motorcycle. His only seated a maximum of two, but it got great mileage.

With a sigh of well-earned exhaustion, Light stepped through the door to his new home and dropped his keys on the nightstand next to his entryway. "Hell of a day." He mused aloud, pulling off his jacket and throwing his sunglasses atop the pile of black leather.

He would later speak of the coincidence, but his cellular phone rang, chirping out a multichannel rendition of "Here comes the bride." Light cracked a smile, because he'd only just reprogrammed the ringtone two days ago. It was exceptionally good timing on their part as well. He'd wondered how those two had been doing.

He dug into the interior pocket of his discarded jacket and flipped the device open. "So who do I have? Rick or Lisa?"

There was a pause for a moment, followed by the short guffaw from Rick Williamson, his longtime friend and part-time drinking buddy. "Damn, Light, it's good to hear your voice."

"Good to hear yours too, my friend." Dr. Light smiled, retreating back into the always present and always cheerful persona of Tom. "So how are you and Lisa doing these days?"

"Oh, she's always fidgeting with the marriage arrangements. Speaking of which, we moved the date back."

"Oh, you're not doing it in August now?"

"We're going to save up some money for it first; But don't worry too much. Waiting a year before the ceremony isn't going to kill us. We'd just prefer not to go into debt any more than College already has."

"Amen to that." Tom grinned, walking over to the sliding glass door from his living room. He pulled the curtains open and looked outside; it was a wonderful night, and his choice to choose a residence off of the beaten path had paid off. If he looked one direction, he could see the glimmering lights of Redmond. In another, he only saw the darkness of a still very free and open Pacific Northwest. It was a good mix, and a good place; caught between civilization and the open country which still remained a part of his whimsical dreams, Light found his balance. "I assume I'm still your best man, though?"

"I wouldn't trust anybody else to keep me from making a fool of myself. Besides, who else can give an invocational speech at the reception in fifteen different languages?"

Tom grinned a bit at that and maneuvered towards his bedroom. "Good point. How's the job treating you?"

"Oh, decent, decent. No complaints." Rick mused. "Nowhere near as exciting as what _you_ must be doing. Mr. high and mighty, working at the National freaking Institute! Have you come up with any brilliant ideas yet?"

"Always." Tom smiled, knowing that Rick could sense it over their connection. "Also, my boss has to repeat every bleeding thing he says twice, and my next door neighbor is affectionately known as the mad scientist."

"…Serious? The place sounds like a madhouse."

"What can I say, Rick? The place is full of geniuses. And geniuses are nuts."

"You know, that explains so much about you?"

"Oh, come off it. I'm no genius."

"Bulll-shit." Rick snorted. "So you've got a few nutballs, eh?"

"They're not bad people. They're just interesting."

"Well, is there anybody in that place who's normal?"

Tom considered it for a moment, lying back on his mattress and letting out a long sigh. He stretched his free arm up above his head and rested his knuckles against the headboard. "Maybe. There's this one girl in the robotics department…"

"Oh-ho." Rick said teasingly. "Someone I should know about?"

"I don't know." Tom muttered dismissively. "She says she'd prefer to keep to herself. And she's been hurt."

"By other men?"

"No. She's just had her confidence wrecked, and it's dragged the rest of her down with it."

"Geez. Sounds like a real hard case to crack, buddy. Sure you don't want to move on and just keep that one as somebody you talk with over the water cooler?"

"Maybe." Tom mused, a twinkle in his left blue eye. He stretched out for a bit longer, then smiled again. "But as I recall, a certain girl you're planning to marry once thought you were annoying as Hell."

"She still does." Rick chuckled. "She says sometimes that she's marrying me just to see if I'm less annoying when she has total dominance over my life."

"Anything's possible." Light admitted, sharing in the joke.

There was silence for a span of five seconds before Light sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "All I know, Rick, is that I'd do anything to see her smile."

The line was quiet for a bit, and when Rick spoke, it was with an amazed concern. "Tom, if I didn't know better, I could swear you've already fallen head over heels for her."

"Maybe I have, Rick." Tom sighed, and the vision of her dazzling green eyes and her blond hair stretched over them lingered in his memory. "And maybe that's not such a bad thing after all."

"You have pretty big dreams, Tom. You always have."

"Good thing, too." Thomas Light mused, feeling sleep fast approaching. "This world needs them."

Rick offered no counterargument, and they closed the conversation soon after. He undressed and switched out for a pair of his gray sleeping shorts and a loose white T-Shirt, then sank into the covers and was snoring softly in fifteen minutes.

That night, he dreamed of Vanessa.

He dreamed of her smiling and laughing…because of him.


	3. Electronic Communication

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Two: Electronic Communication**

"_Thirty years ago, your grandfather and I were scientists at the same Institute. We were in competition with one another for the grand prize; Our nation held a Contest every year to decide which project they would put full funding behind, and that year, also to decide which project would be sent on to the international level. I built robots…and he specialized in Networks."_

**-Dr. Wily to Lan Hikari (Light), 2071 C.E. (The Battle Network Timeline)**

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Redmond, Washington_

_May 26__th__, 2039 C.E._

_Director Simdorn's Office, 9:13 A.M._

Being in charge of the merry band of miscreants was something which Dr. Simdorn sometimes enjoyed, and other times, did not. Today, it seemed, was a good day. It was not very often that he was able to relate good news, and the E-Mail he had just finished reading was certainly that.

He laughed a little to himself and closed it out. "Wonderful. Simply wonderful. If they haven't started moving on their project deadlines by now, they'll be burning the midnight oil to be ready after this."

He picked himself up and set direction for the cafeteria. If there was one place to spread the wonderful announcement, it was there. After all, as he had learned, people loved to congregate where there was food.

Light grimaced as he sipped at the lukewarm cafeteria grade coffee. "Christ on a shingle, do I have to go back there and show them how to make a decent cup of java?" He gave his head a resigned shake and put the mug aside. Chances were better they'd simply been using the same coffee grounds for three hours now.

_The shortages._ That statement rang in his ears, as it did almost once every day anymore. The world had certainly gotten smaller since he was a boy, and not always in good ways. The earth's natural resources were beginning to dwindle. Oil was a major concern of all nations, as was potable water, but the smaller signs were almost as worrisome. Whether it was a meal for five at a restaurant which cost one hundred dollars where seventy would have sufficed only a decade before, or government agencies looking for any way to cut corners, tightening of belts seemed to be natural.

The problem was that few in the United States were willing to cut back. Sure, they would complain and scream conspiracy, but when push came to shove, they were willing to dole out a few extra tens for their way of life. That was the problem with the standard of living; Once people got used to their amenities, they didn't like to go without them.

Light sighed and stared at the section of code he'd worked on the day before. The deadline weighed heavily on his mind; His project had to be ready by the 15th of the next month, and he felt like he could spend a decade on it and not be prepared. That was the problem with ones' life's work: It always had to be perfect, and it never would be.

A tray crashed down on his table, and Light let off a startled gulp, recoiling back. He blinked to recover, and stared up at the smiling face of Dr. Simdorn.

The elderly scientist, against all laws of physics, stretched his jaws apart for a wider smile. "I know people who get engrossed in their work, Light, but you could break world records. I said your name three times!"

"You did?" Light answered, scratching the back of his head nervously. It was a gesture he'd picked up while he was studying Japanese language and culture in his third year of study. "Sorry, sir, I didn't hear you."

"You wouldn't have heard a train crashing through the wall." Simdorn laughed. He set his hand down beside his tray; there was a doughnut, two bananas, and a glass of coffee and another of milk. "So, how's the java this morning?"

"Weak." Light mumbled, pushing his own cup off to the side.

"Damn." Simdorn winced, reaching for the milk. "Reusing the same grounds again, I'd wager. I've got to tell them to knock it off. Even the shortages aren't an excuse for lousy caffe."

"Hnn." Light shrugged. "At least we still have coffee. I heard on the news that portions of Africa that have fallen under martial law aren't getting in any imports, coffee included."

"Bah." Simdorn groaned. "Please, I hear enough about that from my wife. Her and all her damn tea society socialites…"

Light smirked a bit. "They like to talk?"

"_Constantly!"_ Simdorn groaned. "And if you ever try to get a word in edgewise, they look at you like you were lower than slime. If it wasn't for my friends who enjoy playing online first person shooters, I'd get no peace at home."

Light lifted his tablet up ever so slightly. "So, what can I do for you, sir?"

"Call me Randy." The Director remarked glibly. "I prefer the informality, Thomas."

"All right…Randy. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"What, I can't check in and see how our newest shining star's doing this fine day?" The leader of the Institute bemoaned, feigning offense.

Light, not one to be fazed by such things as mocked hurt, smiled back. "Nah. S'all right."

"Well, as a matter of fact I did have a few things to talk with you about."

"I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"Why…no. Should you be?"

"Not really." Light chuckled a bit to himself. "I've just taken to saying that over the years. That way, if it's something I might have conceivably done, I can follow it up with, "I didn't do it!"

Simdorn let out a deep belly-throated laugh and slapped his hand on the table. A few people about the cafeteria paused their own conversations and threw a curious glance in their direction, but shook their heads and resumed their own business soon enough. As Light surmised, it was just Director Simdorn on another one of his tirades, and most people seemed to be used to that.

"Oh, Tom, you really crack me up." Simdorn sighed, wiping his glasses. "But seriously, now. I was looking over the staffing reports, and I noticed that you still haven't added anybody to your department yet."

"Nobody's volunteered." Light shrugged.

"Well, why should that stop you? Just tell me who you want, and…"

"Actually, sir, if it's all the same to you, I wouldn't feel right taking people from other sections here at the Institute." Thomas set his tablet down and leaned on an elbow. "If I'm going to have people underneath me, I want to trust in the fact that they want to be there, you know?"

Simdorn thought it over for a moment and finally agreed. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are the only person at the Institute in the communications department…"

"Newly _created_ communications department." Light corrected his elder, raising his index finger in argument. "It's only been a week. Give it time, Randy. When they're ready, they'll come. I won't force them."

Director Simdorn picked up his doughnut with a napkin and held it appraisingly. "I don't suppose that there's a chance I can change your mind?"

"Many have tried. None have succeeded." Dr. Light answered, curiously mirthful. His superior acceded the point and set into his mid-morning snack, reveling in the glaze.

Or he tried to, at least.

A few thoughtful chews later, he set it aside with another sigh. "Wonderful. A sugar substitute. That's the government for you; Grade D Beef and buy cheap bulk imitations."

Light lifted his shoulders. "It's a rough time. We'll all have to adjust. Besides, I got used to drinking diet soda. Your doughnut shouldn't be much different."

"Tom, I'm old enough to remember when the President of the United States ate Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Big Macs and damn well enjoyed it." Randall Simdorn barked. He picked up one of his two bananas and tore the skin away from it. "What we ought to do is come up with a way to replenish the sugar harvest to its golden age."

"Wish I could help you, sir, but that's not really my area."

"No, of course it isn't." The Director cracked another smile, recalling his other piece of news. "But it certainly would help you. The Contest has changed this year."

Light's ears perked up. So did the ears of a few other scientists, laboratory assistants, and technicians seated about them in the expansive setting. The conversations went quiet, and Director Simdorn became very self-conscious in a matter of moments.

Light glanced about to all the questioning faces, then turned to Simdorn with a musing half-smile. "I believe you have their attention."

"So it would seem." The older man mused, slowly rising to his feet. "I only wished they paid this much attention for my morning announcements."

A few polite chuckles echoed about the cafeteria for a bit, but the questioning silence reasserted itself quickly.

"Lord, lord, lord." Simdorn exhaled, cleaning his glasses again. He raised his voice and looked around. "Well, I'll just come out and say it. The United Nations is looking to put together a feel-good multinational effort; Apparently, the diplomats of the world have finally started to pay attention to the good work we do here at the Institute, and have modeled it on a global scale. As some countries would like to say, 'You made it first, but we made it better.'" Simdorn paused, and noted that they were fully entranced. "I've just received word from the Vice President that whoever wins this year's National Contest will advance to the United Nations project finals; And whoever wins there will see their creation or idea implemented on a global scale, with full international cooperation." He put his glasses back on, smirking. "Or so they say. All of you know that my opinions on politicians, regardless of their level are…Well, dismal."

A voice from the crowd rose up. "Why would they do this?"

"Apparently, they're looking to foster some goodwill across the world." Simdorn answered. "With tensions the way they are anymore and the shortages, I suppose we could use a bit of good news. That's why this year's Contest is the most important one ever, people. Whatever you decide to make, it'd behoove you to make it with the notion of advancing to an international level. The rest of the world may have decided to improve on our annual project Contest…But I say we show 'em that the original is the best, come Hell or high water!"

Cheers erupted, and Simdorn smiled, basking in it. "Aah, my people. How they love me."

Everybody stormed out of the cafeteria moments later, charging for their various department laboratories. A stunned Director Simdorn looked at the now vacated cafeteria and shook his head. "I'll be damned."

Light stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "That's one way to get them motivated, Randy. I suppose I'd best be off myself."

Director Simdorn mumbled something or another, but Light was long gone, and wandering down the hall.

Someone else was already waiting for him when he exited the cafeteria; Dr. Albert Wily. The intelligent fatalist arched an eyebrow at Light where he leaned, propped against the wall with a nonchalance that his white laboratory coat humorously exaggerated. With his hands in his pockets and the sole of one of his shoes braced against the corridor's wall, he looked a bit like Snoopy in his "Joe Cool" phase.

"What are you doing down here, Will? I didn't think you enjoyed daylight."

"Har, har." Wily answered, pulling himself off of the wall and assuming an equal pace abreast of his counterpart. "Some of us work for a living, you know."

"You serious? I thought we were on vacation." Light retorted, and Wily cracked a grin at the joke. "Really, though. What do you think of the announcement?"

Wily shrugged. "It's just another step to me. For some, it might mean incentive, but it's not going to change the course of our project."

"And what are you working on, by chance?"

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine." Wily taunted, pulling back on grade school rhymes. "Sorry, Tom, can't tell you that, but I'll give you the courtesy of not asking what you've got cooking in your department." The 'mad scientist' of the Institute curled his mustache for a bit. "But since it's a safe topic, have you gotten a chance to look at that code any since you first got it?"

"What did Vanessa tell you?"

"Miss Tercel?" Wily rephrased, suddenly becoming professional. "She told me that you glanced over the files, but that you'd need more time. But since it's been about a week, I thought I'd check."

Light felt torn between his dislike of Wily's treatment of his underlings, and the own friendly tie he felt between them. If only Albert Wily wasn't so demanding with his staff, it would have been perfect. Not even Light's compulsion to keep his personal and professional lives separate fully restored the image of the head of robotics; the pain on Vanessa's face was still too fresh in his mind, and the last time they had spoken had been days ago. She'd been avoiding him ever since then, and Light, preoccupied with his main work and the plan, had respected her wishes.

Now, though, it seemed like it was a good time to implement his well-intentioned scheme.

"Thomas?"

"…Eh? Whu?"

Still keeping an even pace with Light, Dr. Wily frowned at the brown-haired scientist. "You spaced out on me there, Tom."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just trying to figure out how best to put this…"

"I'll make it easy. You haven't looked at it since then."

"Oh, you'd like that." Light rebuffed with a smile and a warmhearted chuckle. "It's easier to brush people off if they've disappointed you, right?"

Wily raised an eyebrow at the comment, but kept his mouth silent and waited for an explanation.

"Relax. I've looked at it since then. I cleaned the code up a bit…but I'm stumped at parts. I can't figure it out on my own."

"Welcome to my world." Wily sighed. "Oh well. It was a nice gesture anyhow, Thomas. You can just go ahead and delete the data."

"Now, hold on a second there." Light interjected calmly. "I didn't say I'd given up on it."

"You said you couldn't solve it alone." Wily reminded him. "And as much as I'd love to put our heads together on it, I won't have any free time for that sort of collaboration until the Contest is done with."

"Well, it wouldn't necessarily need to be you." Light reassured the man with a casual drawl. "It could be anybody from your department. If you could spare them."

Wily winced. "I don't know…"

"Just think." Light continued, prodding him. "Is there anybody on your staff that you could spare for an afternoon for a few days?"

Wily scratched at the growing bald spot in the middle of his head, then gave off an exhausted sigh. "Well, I could have Miss Tercel swing by. She's the only one I'd consider freeing up."

"That'll work." Thomas Light agreed, hiding his triumphant smile. "Just send her down whenever."

"I'll do that." Wily agreed, leveling a finger at his coworker. "But I'm saying this out of courtesy; Don't let your own work fall to the wayside for this, you hear?"

"As the Beatles once sang, "And a time for every purpose under heaven." Light quoted in reply, winking. "We'll talk to you later, Will."

"Later, Light." The two scientists parted ways again, and as they turned away from each other, both smiled…though for entirely different reasons.

In Wily's mind, it was a chance to free some dead weight. In Light's eyes, everything was coming together.

* * *

Light had a feeling that Wily would equate "Whenever" to "As soon as I get back to the office," and he was not disappointed when his prediction came true. Vanessa Tercel marched through his doors a little earlier than expected, however; he was still packing his briefcase with the necessary materials when she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

Vanessa seemed disturbed when he glanced at her. It probably had much to do with his appearance, which was distinctly civilian. He'd cast off his white laboratory coat for a blue T-Shirt and his black leather bomber's jacket.

"Aah, good. You're here." The linguist doctor smiled. "A little early, but just as well. Give me a few minutes to finish packing everything."

"What are you doing out of uniform?" Vanessa prompted irritably. "We're still in business hours!"

"True, and we're still working." He answered, pulling a pair of portable tablets in with his other files. "We're just not going to be doing it in here."

For a change, Vanessa was left speechless. Light glanced up at her again and wrinkled his nose with another wide smile. "Sometimes, I have to get away from my work in order to think about it."

"And…Just what exactly are we going to be working on? And why did you need me, for that matter?"

Light checked his briefcase over one last time, then nodded and snapped the clasps shut. "I've reached a point in that side project of Wily's where I'm stumped. I need somebody with a fresh perspective on it…and I figured, as long as you were about, I'd have you show me around the area. I'm still new here, after all."

Vanessa folded her arms, giving the brash doctor an incredulous stare. "Hold on a minute. This sounds like a setup to me."

Light stood up and held the briefcase at his side, considering her accusation with a thoughtful silence. "Isn't that just the least bit paranoid?"

"If it were anyone else, I'd agree with you." She quipped acerbically. "But since you've already quoted a vested interest in me…"

"I also said I'd prefer not to step on your toes if you didn't want to go that route." Dr. Light interrupted calmly. "Now come on. I'd like to get _something_ done today, and right now we're just sitting around jawing at each other." He flipped his briefcase of materials over his shoulder and reached for the interior pocket of his black jacket.

He produced a pair of dark reflective sunglasses and slipped them over his eyes, becoming inscrutably commanding in an instant. "Where we're going, the lab coat won't help you. Ditch it by the door on our way out, hmm?"

"At some point, there is going to be some actual work, right?" Vanessa sighed in defeat, coming astride him as they went for the exit.

"Miles to go before we sleep." Light agreed with a chuckle.

She unbuttoned her lab smock, harrumphing with begrudging respect. "You know the poetry of Robert Frost as well?"

"And Tennyson, but those are the only two I ever paid much attention to." He was about to say something else, but a flash of color from beside him stopped his thoughts cold.

Underneath the long white laboratory coat, she wore a white blouse and an unbuttoned red sweater vest. Her tan slacks completed the ensemble, and for the first time, Light noticed that she was wearing sandals today.

He stared longer than he'd expected to; She felt his gaze and blushed hotly. "I didn't come dressed for travel, but I'd advise you to keep any comments to yourself."

He settled for a nervous laugh, dodging to the side when she swung her discarded lab coat over her shoulder, mimicking his briefcase. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, but there is one thing I should ask."

She silenced her groan and merely rolled her eyes. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?" He asked. It wasn't the question she'd anticipated, and her mouth opened and closed for a few moments before she was forced to shake her head no.

* * *

_The Isle of Mykonos, the Cyclades Islands_

_The Aegean Sea_

_May 26__th__, 2039 C.E._

_7:25 P.M. Cyclades Time_

There was something to be said about the majesty of the sea. It had been a while since he'd last considered it, but the entrepreneurial businessman sitting out on the deck of his cliffside mansion found a renewed sense of humility by looking out over the rolling surf. The sea had given rise to all life. The sea bestowed its blessings upon them, with fish and salt and kelp. The lull of its waves against the sandbars about the island could put a man to sleep.

Yes, the black-haired man who called Mykonos 'home' looked at the sea, and saw in it a reflection of what he himself endeavored to be; Bountiful, mysterious, and above all else…Powerful. He had the first two down, for the most part.

Bounty he had in the wealth provided to him by his heritage; It helped when one had connections to a vested Grecian family to begin with, and he'd taken his own personal wealth and expanded on it exponentially. Mystery he had by grace of his real name, and adopted surname.

Oliver Xanthos, of the Xanthos clan, was the fourth son in a family of eight children. That total was remarkable in today's world, but his position, perhaps the lowest of the totem pole, meant that he had little connection with the rest of his family. They had more or less supplied him his inheritance and sent him on his way to thrive or fall as he saw fit. That was the lifestyle he'd created for himself; just another vagrant playboy come to Mykonos for sun and surf and philandering. Mykonos had long been famed as a resort for the rich, and he favored the illusion.

There was no biography written of his life, nor would there ever be. Those who did such things would see him as beneath notice…and those who knew better of the man had more important things to do with their time than record tales of his life. He had no doubt that certain intelligence elements of his home country, and other notable military powers had files on his 'rumored' illicit activities, but certainly there was nobody who could connect Oliver Xanthos to the enigmatic and faceless "Mr. X" that was in charge of a transnational weapons smuggling operation throughout the Mediterranean. The sea was mysterious, as he himself now was.

Startling brown eyes flickered from the crashing waves of sunset to the small digital phone clipped to his belt. It was buzzing in short bursts; a programmed signal that meant some member of his family was calling. He ignored it and took another sip of the wine that came from his family's vineyards. While they did not see fit to include him in their business affairs, they had the decency to send a case of spirits from every year's crop. Some were better than others, and tonight he favored one of the less palatable years. He would save the better vintages for when he had something to celebrate.

A half-unbuttoned and untucked shirt with tan shorts was all he needed for the temperate sea air, even at night. In an hour, the chill would drive him inside, but he would be done enjoying the view by then.

His phone went off again; this time, the encoded vibrations meant another source entirely. He picked it up and activated it before it could complete its second cycle. "X." The swarthy Greek arms smuggler growled. He had no fear of talking over the line; Not only was it secure, being Greek army issue (One of his better deals), but it also modified his voice so that not even his own people, outside of a few very high commanders, could trace his true identity.

He listened attentively, absorbing the even and measured of the subordinate who had called. It was a district-level contact, reporting on one of his business ventures. A faint smile graced the lines of his suntanned face, and he even gave his thick black beard a stroke. "Good," He remarked, and ended the call.

Oliver Xanthos took another look at the wine glass in his hand, then casually tipped it over the railing and poured out the contents. "It seems tonight is worth celebrating after all." He mused brightly. The call had been to confirm a sale of variable ammunition assault rifles to a Turkish paramilitary faction.

Anybody who knew their history understood that the Turks and the Greeks had an enmity which went back to the foundation of their ancient civilizations. The two countries had kept an unsteady peace accord since the foundation of the United Nations…but even that effort at world parity could not still the resentment which blood, which lasted beyond time, kept alive. While the respective governments of the Turks and Greeks had no open dispute with one another, most accepted that each had violent underground movements dedicated to the eradication of the other. Xanthos had made a fortune as a weapons supplier, first to his own people…

And now, even to his country's hated rivals.

He walked over to a communications panel on the side of his walkout door and depressed the talk toggle. It sent a beep to his servant, who responded with only a moment's delay. "Yes, Mr. Xanthos?"

"Bring me a bottle of the '31."

There was a pause on the other end of surprise, but his butler recovered quickly. "Right away, sir." The comm panel fell silent, and Mr. X turned back to the ocean and smiled, folding his hands behind his back.

A part of him should have felt a pang of guilt for what he was doing; Patriots would call him traitor to the cause. But he was merely a businessman, Mr. X reminded those faint voices of conscience, and he would send his merchandise to the highest bidder. How those weapons were used was not his concern; it was not for him to choose sides.

After all, the ocean was impartial, sparing or destroying without thought to nation, social standing, or lot in life. He was merely emulating that which he best loved, and there was great pride to be taken in that.

The third aspect of the sea before him began to coil around his heart. Bounty and mystery he held in full measure.

Power, Mr. X now gained.

* * *

_Downtown Redmond, Washington_

_May 26__th__, 2039 C.E._

_11:09 A.M._

Light finished off his cup of coffee with a blissful sigh, then set it back on its saucer. "Now _that_ is what coffee's supposed to taste like."

"Mmhmm." Vanessa mumbled, not really paying attention. Her own mug was beginning to cool off, but her thoughts were thoroughly centered on the digital tablet in her hand. "Have you done anything with this? It doesn't look like you've made that many modifications at all."

"Which is why I asked for your help." Light replied, picking up his own tablet and reverting it away from the screensaver. "I know that there's something there, but I'm just not seeing it…"

"And how much time have you put in on this?"

"About fifty hours, I'd say." Light bluffed. In truth, he had seen the solution within the first hour of staring at it after he'd come up with his secret initiative, but his plan required him to feign a touch of stupidity.

The ploy worked; Vanessa's brilliant green eyes winced in disbelief. "I only gave this to you six days ago!"

Light offered a conciliatory, and wholly meaningless shrug. "It engaged my interest. I just wish I could have done something more with it."

She scrolled through the code, frowning. "Well, you cleaned most of it up, at least. I like this a lot better than Wily's chicken scratch."

Light made a subdual noise of agreement. "Well, you said that programming wasn't his strong suit. Is it one of yours?"

Vanessa gave him a half-shrug. "I can program automatons to move to certain points and fulfill ordinary objectives. Nothing like you can apparently do with programming, though. My strength in programming is that I know what the code has to look like for our robots to do what they want." Her voice faltered off at the end, and Light filled in the rest.

"But you can't…" Vanessa gave her head a shake, grim once more.

"I warned you a long while ago that I wasn't the best person for this."

The brown-haired scientist thought for a moment, then smiled and readjusted his sunglasses up in his messy crop of hair. "Actually, you're the perfect person for this."

Having long ago resigned herself to the exercise they were committed to, Vanessa played droll and swirled a swizzle stick through her barely touched drink. "You're actually serious. Very well; how do you justify my participation in this bizarre little science project?"

"Historical example." Light hummed, and she heard strains of the U.S. national anthem in his attempt at humor. "Benjamin Franklin is revered as a nigh untouchable figure in American history. In his early days, before he became a philandering sugar daddy as our ambassador to France, he, like all the naturalists of his day, experimented. His best work with electricity was done when he had no idea of what other 'European thinkers' were theorizing. People in Britain were obsessed with 'humours' in their studies of electricity. Franklin's own work, "Uneducated" as it was, came closer to hitting the mark." Light pointed to her. "You're intelligent, Vanessa. You have all the tools and wit you need in the world at your disposal. All that's holding you back is a belief that you can't help me because you're not trained as well as you should be, and that's just misconception. You can help me more than you know; Maybe you can see something I missed…"

"Because I'm not mired by experience?" She concluded dryly.

"I expect to see certain things. In looking for one pattern, I can miss five others."

"I'm not sure if you're just buttering me up, or if you're actually honest…" She began, but shrugged it off after a moment of looking at his face. "I'm willing to go with the option that you're being honest here."

"It's usually the safer route to take with people." He acquiesced, trying to ignore the flare of pain inside of his heart that came from continuing the charade. Ignoring it didn't work; he settled into his own thoughts to deal with it.

It was for the best, in the end; If it worked, she would regain the confidence that all her experiences under Wily had created, and emerge the stronger for it. Any evil he was doing by being less than honest would result in that greater good…Which meant he could forgive himself.

"So what made you decide to come to the Institute?" Light asked, changing the subject both for the conversation and his own troubled thoughts. "With your talents, you could have done wonders in the private sector."

"All of us could have." Vanessa countered. She arched her neck pointedly towards him. "But I suspect that everybody at the Institute suffers from a case of social responsibility. In your case, it might be terminal."

"Touché." Thomas muttered under his breath. "But you never answered my question."

"Several factors." She picked up her coffee and gave it an appraising sip, wincing and setting it down. "Damn, it got cold. For one, loan forgiveness. The private sector may have more opportunities for advancement, but they don't help with all the money I borrowed to get through College."

"Where did you go?"

"UCLA, at first, then I did my Master's work at Cal Tech."

Light whistled. "Impressive resume. So you came here for the money?"

"You make it sound so crude." She complained, leaning on an elbow. "I don't like it, but I just had to accept that certain things in my life had to budge for the budget. And if I can help to make our country better off than it was in the process, it's time that hasn't been wasted."

"What made you decide to go into robotics?" Light went on, switching gears on her again.

Vanessa smiled. "Surprisingly enough…Legos."

"Building blocks?"

"I've always liked building things." She continued, gloating that she had made him flummoxed. "After a while, I started working with the more advanced builder's kits, and from there, onto standard industrial equipment. It thrilled me; I was bringing life to metal. Sure, they were simple, but they were moving. They could sense things in their environment, and react to them. I decided that I would dedicate my life to making robots that would push the envelope." She paused, and whimsy gave way to melancholia again. "And up until last year, I was in the right place for it."

"With Wily." Light mused, and she nodded. "He's brilliant, isn't he?"

"A genius, in his own right." Vanessa admitted.

"But he doesn't let you grow, does he?"

"I made a mistake." She reminded him, offering a sad smile. "Mistakes like that are unforgivable."

Light shook his head. "I don't believe that. And you shouldn't, either."

"Are you still trying to tell me how to think?"

"No." Light tipped his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose and peered over them. "Just reminding you of who you are."

Vanessa rolled her eyes, but let the matter drop. Light sighed and stared at his tablet again. "You had an analogy for this which struck me. Something about Japanese script?"

"Katakana makes English sounds, but it reads completely different." She agreed, poring over the data. "That's the problem here. Wily knows it, and we all know it too. The operating code for the bionic legs is _like_ more standard codes, but it runs on its own patterns. That code translates human nerve impulses into binary, which it then uses to relay movement. All code…"

"Is based on binary." Light continued, not missing a beat. "But the signals which the legs use to generate movement are supposed to come from a biological source, and you only have a digital one. At its essence, it's still binary…but that doesn't do your joint system any good, because it _looks_ different."

"And because the two systems cannot communicate effectively, every time we've started it up, the relays end up overheating, then overloading, then destroying the entire assembly in a cascade failure."

"Like frying its brain, with no way to stop it." Light summarized. "The challenge we have is that we need to develop some sort of a…well, a translator."

"That much, I know." Vanessa Tercel snapped. "And you couldn't come up with one, with fifty hours of work?"

"That's why I have you." Thomas answered her, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "We're going to crack this if it takes us all day."

Vanessa looked around for a long moment, then shook her head. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not going to find enlightenment in a coffee shop." She picked up her tablet and stood, motioning for Light to do the same. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Light asked, rising up and genuinely curious. She was taking the initiative in their meeting; it was a good sign, but one he hadn't predicted.

Vanessa brushed her blond hair back and rubbed at her temple. "We're going to go someplace where I can think."

"Do you know a place?"

Vanessa's nose wrinkled up as she smiled; Light found that charm of hers exceedingly cute. "It just so happens I do."

* * *

Thomas Light felt like he'd been shot headfirst into a Norman Rockwell painting. Vanessa had taken them to one of Redmond's large municipal parks. Replete with a pond full of geese, and walking trails where joggers passed them by only to vanish into the wooded park, it was a potent reminder of all the green he held dear to whimsy.

"I could get used to this." He exhaled, stretching his body over the warm grass of early summer. Vanessa Tercel glanced down at him from the park bench nearby; unlike the more flamboyant Dr. Light, she had some sense of restraint, and sat with her legs crossed. She shook her head and stared back at the digital tablet, while Light looked up through his fingers and the leaves of the trees above him to the high afternoon sun. "It's gorgeous."

"I thought you might agree." She mused, taking a moment to enjoy their surroundings herself. "Some days, I feel like there isn't enough green left in the world. I've made it a point to stop and enjoy what there is."

"While it's still here." Light agreed, sitting up with a sigh. "Things have changed since I was little; not all in good ways."

"The shortages?"

"It's not just that everything costs people more these days." He continued. "Everybody just seems so…Tense, I guess is the word. On a global scale. Everybody seems to be getting mad at everybody else."

Vanessa shrugged. "History wasn't my subject, but I remember my old College professor always saying, 'And then suddenly, peace broke out.' There's always tensions someplace."

Light sighed. "I hope so. It's better than this feeling I get some days. It conflicts with my usual outlook."

"You? Worry?" Vanessa chortled, tapping a few keystrokes, then deleting her alteration a moment later. The code still remained unsolved. "You didn't catch me as the sort of person who worried about anything. Not even your own department's project for the Contest, which, if you've forgotten, is coming up very soon."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten." Light mused, lying back on the grass. In different circumstances, he could have fallen asleep there in the park. Had she been lying beside him, he would have certainly dozed off. "I'll get it done. I just don't see the point in chewing my nails about it. I don't sweat the small details."

"No, but you seem to worry about the larger ones."

Light smiled and stared up into the perfect blue sky. "Maybe because those are the ones worth worrying about."

Vanessa set her tablet aside, staring at him again. "Do you think you're going to save the world? Is that it, some kind of delusion of grandeur?"

"Are you always this critical of the people you work with?" Light asked, keeping his voice level to hide the mounting irritation. "Because it occurs to me that you have had very few good things to say about me, but your perception of Wily, for all his badgering and ill treatment of you, is distinctly rose-colored."

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one willing to bend first. Thomas finally rolled his eyes and settled back against the grass again, having no desire to win a competition that he hadn't started. Apparently, shame wasn't going to win her over either. "Forget it." Light mumbled. "I'm no hero, but there are some things I'm willing to try to change. I believe in my idea. Wars and weapons won't change this world for the better. We've spent forever trying to prove that we're all different…and we forget that we're all in this together."

Vanessa said nothing, and Light continued, continuing to stare up at the blue skies visible through the trees. "The Network. That's my idea. It would bring everyone together. Somewhere…" he tapped his head for emphasis, "…There's a constancy to it all. The language barrier is still keeping us apart. And I just know that when I'm able to break it all down, when that barrier isn't there…things will work out for the better. They have to."

Vanessa stared at him, blinking her sharp green eyes. "You're a dreamer."

"Always have been." Light agreed, feeling a rightness as soothing as any nap slip over his shoulders. "It's what gives my life meaning. I believe in my ideas. As long as I live every day with that, knowing I've lived each day without regrets, I can die happy."

"You're not going to die."

"Not anytime soon, I'd hope." Thomas Light chuckled, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes. "But living day to day, and always reaching for contentment saves me a lot of worry in the long run."

Vanessa shook her head. "This world would be a dull place without you in it."

Light absorbed the comment, then rolled onto his side, staring out over the pond of geese, who floated on the calm waters without a care. "You actually sounded sincere just then."

She blushed, though he didn't see it. They had passed a juncture, and she felt herself becoming more at ease. "I don't worship him, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Wily." She added, clarifying the thought. Light still didn't turn back around, which might have been why her courage was bolstered. His eyes had an unsettling, quieting effect on her, like a welcoming and warm void. "He's very good at what he does, but…I don't worship him. And I don't enjoy what he says about me. I just don't know if I can change him."

"Maybe you can't." Light mused, plucking a blade of grass and releasing it to drift in the wind. "But you don't deserve his badgering. You've earned your right to be here."

She squinted her eyes shut for a moment, contemplating the sentence that already waited on the tip of her tongue. She would have said it immediately, but the ramifications of what it meant had given her pause. To say it…To give it voice would usher in a new level of their association. She didn't know if she agreed with all that it would bring.

He deserved, it though. He deserved to hear it, and to know that she, for all her jaded experiences at the Institute, respected him for his candor.

"So have you." She whispered, and let it hang in the air between them.

She watched the twenty-six year old Thomas Light tense up for a moment, and from the taut muscles in his back, could see him trying to formulate some kind of a comeback.

Blushing again, Vanessa reached for her tablet and turned back to her safe haven away from the confusing issues of trust and friendship; work.

"You might say this project is a prelude to what you'll be doing with your Networks."

"Really?" He asked, smiling a smile she couldn't see, but heard well enough. "How so?"

"You want to give everybody in the world the ability to talk to one another so they can understand. Here, we're trying to make two completely different operating codes communicate with one another."

Light chuckled again, his calm nature as true as ever. "I suppose so. And who knows? If we were able to get past our own troubles to work together, Miss Tercel…maybe there's hope for the world yet."

As they continued to propose ideas of code and algorithms, a smiling Vanessa Tercel found her spirit aligning with that last statement of his.

Perhaps there was.

* * *

_Who is this man?_

They rode into the fading day, for they had spent the afternoon at her park debating, deliberating, and hypothesizing ideas which all fell short of the mark. Every hour of dead ends had only made her more frustrated…but somehow, he remained at peace with everything. At the end, he'd glanced at his wristwatch, remarked that he needed to get her back to her own vehicle at the Institute, and started back towards the parking lot.

Riding on the back of his sleek motorcycle, arms clinging around his waist for support, Vanessa watched the world go by. He'd avoided the bulk of traffic, aiming for the lesser used roads and skirting around Redmond's sprawl. It was a different sight than she was used to.

He could have driven like a demon, and the way he held himself on the vehicle suggested he well could have, and still maintained control. He was the measure of civility, in that he didn't; they drove at a leisurely 40 miles per hour, obeying every law, and taking every corner so gently that she didn't feel like she was riding.

She felt like she was gliding.

Compared to everyone else she knew, Thomas Light was a strange marvel. Undeniably a genius, regardless of what he claimed to the contrary, he was friendly and approachable. They were all dreamers to some degree or another; some element of whimsy had to remain in a person's work, or there would be no advancement, no envelope to be pushed. Light had dreaming in spades. Wily had seen it as clear as a bell, and so had she.

Somehow, though, the fact that Light was a dreamer didn't bother her as much as it had a week ago. In the time she had spent with him over the course of the day, she had turned her own calculating mind to work. _He's real_, Wily had said of Light after their first meeting.

Perhaps there was more of the dreamer to her, and to others in the Institute than they let on. Cowed by the fear of others' opinions, she had learned to hide her innermost self. She saw no outer shell on Light, and she could mark character.

He was what he appeared to be; a dreamer, a hopeless romantic, and a man confident in himself and his pursuits. The more she thought of it, the more that thought rang true.

They were coming up to the Institute; their long day out and about had come to an end. Her thoughts lingered on Light.

A shiver ran through her. She had asked, however quietly a thought could be, _who is this man?_ And she hadn't meant it in the sense that she wished to know his name, or what he did.

She wanted to know what made him the way he was; what had created the man who, for as much as he annoyed her, still brimmed with a newness that restored her hopes in a tired world. In that answer would be the source of whatever strength he carried.

"Well, we're here."

His friendly tone broke her out of her thoughts, just as his engine purred to a halt. "That was fast." She pulled off the extra helmet he'd loaned her and gave it back to him.

"I made it a point to get to know the roads around here." The leader of the communications department responded. "I've found it's easier to get around when you're not surrounded by traffic and crazy drivers."

"Boy, isn't that the truth." Vanessa laughed, looking at her watch. "I can't believe we spent the whole day, and solved nothing."

"Oh, I wouldn't say it was a wasted day." Thomas proposed, as calm as ever. "Did you ever read Sherlock Holmes?"

"Next, you'll be quoting Shakespeare."

"Don't tempt me." He smiled, his blue eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses. "Holmes used to tell his associate Watson that he could never come up with the right answer if Watson wasn't there to give him all the wrong ones. Today is our own Watson; we know what the solution can't be, so we'll look elsewhere."

"Do you really think we'll crack this translation matrix?" Vanessa asked, pulling out her digital tablet from Light's briefcase. "Do you know?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that I _know_." The Midwestern scientist drawled, kicking his engine back on into a low purr. Compared to the engines of yesteryear, his two-wheeled transport was quiet, save at its highest speeds. "But I can believe that we will. Belief is a very powerful thing." He gave her a thumbs up. "Go home. Rest. Relax. Do the things you enjoy doing when you're not worrying about work. Maybe something will come to you when the night's quieted down."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. It was a sound idea; get away from the problem to solve it. "You do the same then, Dr. Light."

"Tom." He retorted, throwing her another smile as he tightened up the collar of his black leather jacket. "Call me Tom."

Vanessa rolled her eyes, though the motion no longer carried the same disdain it once had. "Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Vanessa."

He pulled away from her and turned back to the drive, throttling up the well tuned engine and soaring down the road. She watched him disappear, then turned for her car. She wasn't all that surprised to find Director Simdorn waiting for her. He had parked beside her this morning, after all.

The old scientist smiled knowingly, cleaning his glasses as she approached. "Did you two have fun?"

"It was work related." Vanessa stated, quickly rising to her own defense.

"I know. Light tossed me an E-Mail this morning; said he was going to go do his project thinking outside of the Institute today. Don't worry, you're covered. So, did you two come up with anything?"

"Just dead ends, I'm afraid." She sighed.

"Well, that happens on occasion." Her overall superior commented. "But the answer will come to you eventually. Hopefully, before the Contest begins, eh?"

"I'd hope so."

"Still, it's good to see that he finally has some help in his department." Simdorn continued, putting his glasses back on. "He's been without assistance since he began, and…"

"Actually, sir…I don't work for Light." Vanessa corrected him carefully. "Light just asked Dr. Wily for some help earlier today, and I was the person that the robotics department could spare."

"Huh." Simdorn grumbled, scratching at his head. "I could've sworn that you were on his team."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your attitude." Simdorn pointed out, pulling out his keys and triggering the remote unlock switch. "You're bright and cheerful again. Working with him put some color back into your life. You should work with people who make you happy, you know. I just assumed…"

His voice trailed off, and he shrugged. "No matter. Have a good night, Miss Tercel."

"Good night, Director."

She opened her car up, got inside, closed the door and turned the ignition on by memory alone. After that, though, she sat leaning against the steering wheel, considering Simdorn's words.

_You should work with people who make you happy._

Did Light make her happy? Wily certainly made her feel miserable most days, but her love was engineering, creating. The day had taught her that Light's company could be enjoyable, but she couldn't see herself working with him in a department where her best talents would be left to stagnate.

It was a complicated question, and one which, she hoped, a good night's sleep would solve. Ending on that resolution, she engaged the drive and turned for the road.

Home, rest, and sleep awaited.

* * *

_Vanessa Tercel's Flat_

_Redmond, Washington_

_9:56 P.M._

The covers of her bed were scattered and strewn, and the soft blue light from her alarm clock flashed digits which served only to irritate her even more. She wanted nothing more than to simply pass out, and wake up the next morning with no recollection of how the evening had passed.

_As if I'd ever have that kind of luck._ She let out a groan and turned on her other side, blowing a puff of air to clear her face of the blond hair strewn about it. Usually when she went to bed early, it garnered immediate results. Light had told her to relax, to give it time. The answer would come to her when she wasn't thinking of work at all.

_Of course, that only happens on television._

She rolled over again, staring at the clock through bleary eyes. Nine fifty-seven now; a whole minute had passed, and her alarm was going off at six in the morning, whether she was ready or not.

Between them, they had come up with nearly two dozen possible solutions to the interface dilemma that plagued the bionic leg project originally meant for organic control. Each had, through what little testing they could do with their tablets in the park they'd been at, been eliminated as false leads.

She pushed back the covers and lurched her body from the warm nest. Maybe a few minutes spent looking out her window would do her some good. Vanessa brushed her mangled blond hair back out of her face again and stretched, shivering when her T-Shirt lifted up to expose midriff to the cool night air. She fought it off, more awake than before, and opened up her blinds.

Outside her bedroom window, which hovered ten stories up in the apartment complex of bustling Redmond, she watched the glimmering lights of the city shine back at her. For a very long time, New York alone had carried the title of the "City That Never Sleeps." Anymore, however, every major and minor congregation of humanity seemed to function regardless of the hour. Traffic swam below, headlights forging down well-beaten paths of concrete. Radio tower beacons flashed their warning lights for passing aircraft, marking the city against the sky.

Redmond bristled with electrical current, and she was adrift in that volt-driven city. Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest and sighed.

"What am I missing here?" She asked herself. She replayed the solutions they'd tried, for the fifth time over their long day. All the bizarre analogies Thomas Light had used did not serve to make the task any easier. Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Benjamin Franklin; they were obscure to begin with, and relevant only at a stretch. Nothing he'd said had been any help to her…

_At its essence, it's still binary…but that doesn't do your joint system any good, because it _looks_ different._

"I know that." She growled, as if the memory of the curious man could be silenced by a quick rebuttal. It was the truth. The two programs spoke the same language, but the code they used was so vastly different that…

She blinked a few times, letting her musings go quiet.

The funny thing about true inspiration is how little time it takes for an idea to take hold. It might take a person seconds more to smile and laugh to themselves at the genius of it, or to explain it to someone else, but the span of the clock's passing between the miraculously unique firing of synapses in the proper order and the conscious realization of the thought goes by as fast as the blink of an eye; perhaps even faster.

Vanessa Tercel did not laugh, nor did she have anyone to explain the idea to. The only indications of epiphany on that quiet May night were the sudden sharp breath that she took in, and the speed at which she moved for the digital tablet lying on top of her bedroom dresser.

Inspiration took a heavy toll on her; even as she brought up a text file and jotted down the idea, sleep's beckon called her for the warm bed. Maybe that was why the epiphany had come so rapidly. Relaxed to a drowsy state between waking day and dreaming night, the subconscious of her true talent was released, momentarily, to offer the solution; then, cognizant enough to carry it out, she finished writing down the idea.

She tottered back and forth long enough to save it, and confirm the save, before she dropped the tablet back where it had laid before and went back to bed. The screen flashed its message prominently for another minute before it went into hibernation; Vanessa was already fast asleep by then, and totally at peace with a smile on her face.

**They speak the same language. They don't write the same**, the message read.

**Program them to 'talk'. Not write.**

**Binary interface; in and out.**

**Simplest.**

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_The Communications Department_

_May 27__th__, 2039 C.E._

_10:14 A.M._

She'd slept until six, gone about her morning as she usually did, and dressed in a conservative ensemble that would be slightly more comfortable on a motorcycle ride than the blouse and slacks she had worn the day before. A nagging thought in the back of her mind had told her it was very likely that Light would wish to 'get away from the office' again to do his thinking, and she wanted to come prepared.

It was only after she'd finished dressing that she noticed the tablet she'd left on her dresser the night before. It woke from its hibernation quickly, and displayed the message that her weary middling state had given her. The solution, simple to explain but complex in the implementation, had hit her with the force she had been unable to hold the night before.

A quick bowl of cereal later, she'd sat down at her home desktop and opened up her code protocols. Running on exhilaration, Cheerios, and what she thought had to certainly be divine intervention, she had pounded out, as well as she thought it could work, a pair of interface matrices; one for the bionic leg's unique code, and one for the master CPU which was supposed to replace the human controller. The feat would have been difficult to do, but Vanessa had extensive experience with the bionic legs' code, even if Wily had never let her near it.

At nine in the morning, she had finished the interface code and inserted it into the main program file on her tablet. Even without the physical mockup that resided at the robotics department of the Institute, the simulations looked good. She raised her fist in triumph and saved the changes to the tablet, then made for the door.

"Light, you're going to be thanking me for weeks." She grinned to herself, snatching her keys from the rack beside her apartment door. Not only Light, she realized, but maybe even Wily. Maybe this time, her superior would finally admit that she had as much right to be there as the rest of them.

She didn't bother checking in at the robotics department, and she even ignored putting on her white lab coat. Nothing else mattered at that moment but getting to the communications department, and showing Light the discovery she'd made. She wasn't all that surprised to find the door unlocked and the lights on. He was a very open fellow, after all, and didn't mind people looking at the clutter about his laboratory space.

"Hey, Light, are you in here?" She poked her head inside and waited for a response. None came, and she rolled her eyes. He might be ignoring her until she ceded to his ongoing request for friendly informality. "Thomas?" She asked again.

Still, no reply.

"Oh well." She shrugged and let herself in. It might be better this way, she thought; How much more stunning would it be to the kindly doctor if he found that the program they were working on had suddenly received its miracle fix? She could wait close by and surprise him. A catlike smile hit her; that would do very nicely indeed.

She walked past the tables of cluttered notes and the diagram-riddled whiteboards to get around to his desktop.

He already had a program open, she noticed; not the file Wily had transferred, however. The code on his monitor was his life's work, the foundation of what he called "The Network."

She shook her head. "One project at a time, doctor." She made sure that no changes had been made without being saved (Which they hadn't), and then went to open up the program code of the project he'd enlisted her help for.

But here, she froze.

She blinked, thinking to herself that maybe she was seeing double from the strain of her harried pace. To her eyes, it seemed like Light had two files of the bionic leg master code. _But that would be ridiculous_, she told herself, still seeing two of them after clearing her eyes. _Why in God's name would he have…_

And then she read the ingrained message that flashed up when the cursor scrolled over them.

**Public version.**

**Private version.**

"The Hell…?" Vanessa whispered, opening up the 'public' file. A minute's brief scan revealed it was just like the code that she'd had before she made her changes.

Her hand shakily put the digital tablet down beside the monitor, and she opened up the second file.

This one was changed. She stared at it, and a numb feeling crept up from her toes until it reached her heart and exploded.

Thomas Light's second file had the solution to the conundrum. It was a binary interface; more fine-tuned than her own, better written, smaller and more compact in size.

He'd had the solution. Her frozen heart stopped, Vanessa's mind continued on; It had last been saved on the twenty-first of May. He'd known the answer. He'd had it for five days.

She didn't know whether to feel hurt or to feel angry. All she knew was that Light had lied to her.

He'd lied.

* * *

Thomas Light had only been out of his office for a few minutes; long enough to drop by the robotics department and have a long-overdue heart to heart with his next door neighbor and fellow crackpot, Dr. Albert Wily.

The two had spoken at length about a variety of subjects, and both had been impressed with the other once more. While Thomas cared little about what others thought of him, he had found Dr. Wily to be a very competent individual who demanded the same of himself as those who worked for him. It was only their third major conversation in more than twice as many days, but for the most part, Light found himself enjoying of the man's company.

It was almost like he had a kindred spirit, albeit one dedicated to the advancement of robots over higher forms of communication. There were only two things which nagged Light immediately, in the end. For one, Wily still expressed no regrets about his attitudes towards Vanessa Tercel, and did not appear to be willing to change that position in the foreseeable future.

Two, Wily still didn't drink coffee. Light had made a silent pledge that he'd have to work on that.

He had no way of knowing that there would be somebody waiting for him when he returned to his own quarters, nor did he have any way to understand the tragic comedy that was unfolding. She was quiet and brooding, and made no sound when he walked into the room, whistling merrily to himself.

Her silence spoke enough when he rounded about the farthest whiteboard, and found her slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the screen.

Light's whistling stopped quickly, and he blinked. She wasn't cheerful. She looked as though somebody had beaten her over the head.

"Vanessa?" He called her name tentatively, wondering if she would even notice him. She stirred and slowly turned her head about, meeting his blue eyes with cold green.

Light shivered from the stare. She didn't even have to speak for him to realize why she was so out of shape.

She had been looking at his screen.

She knew.

"Vanessa…I…"

"Why?"

He fell silent again, suddenly guilty. It only spurred her on, as the blank look on her face gave way to bitterness. "Damn you, _why?!"_ She rose out of the chair, and jammed her finger at the screen. "You knew. You KNEW the solution, you've known it for days!! Why play at it? Why did you lie to Wily? _To me?!_"

Light took in a calming breath. She was angry; the best he could do now was hope to defuse her. Chances were good he'd lost any chance of keeping her as a friend or a partner now. His inner heart's desire was certainly out of the question. "I did it for you." He managed feebly.

That only set her off again. "To win me? To act the gentleman? Damn your eyes, Light, you absolute cretin!" He winced at the lambaste, realizing how easily his words could be misinterpreted.

"I didn't mean it like that. I only wanted to help you."

"Help me?!" She repeated, incredulous. "When did I need your help?"

"Ever since I met you." Thomas snapped back, taking another step towards her. "You walk around like you're a beaten dog. Because of one stupid mistake, you think that you don't deserve to be happy, or to feel accomplished. Maybe you've listened to Wily for so long you didn't know any other way to feel about yourself, except for the perception he gave you. But it wasn't healthy for you, and I wasn't going to stand for it. I thought if you could have one miraculous breakthrough, you'd snap out of it."

She blinked a few times, her memories flooding back. "All those cryptic hints…all those glib historical comments. You were just leading me along, weren't you?"

"It was the only way." He insisted, building up his confidence in his actions. Resolve would be needed in the coming moments. "You wouldn't get your confidence back if I solved it. _You_ had to do it."

Vanessa bit her lip. "It doesn't matter now."

It became Thomas' turn to blink in surprise. "You…You mean you solved it?"

She shut her eyes. "Your interface is better than mine. I should just…I don't know what I should do."

Light beamed. "Vanessa, that's wonderful. You did it! You actually did it!"

"Didn't you hear me?" She snarled at him, beginning to cry. "None of that matters. I thought you were different. But now I see what you were going to do. Sure, you'd lead me to the answer, then send me back, and then you'd give Wily your own interface code, claiming you'd "Cleaned it up" after my breakthrough. Your plan wasn't foolproof. It required a condition you would never be able to control."

He'd lost her. Her lower lip was quivering now, and she was worse off than when they had begun. Light felt his heart begin to tear apart, for he had done harm to the woman he loved without reason, and there was no way to make it right.

In spite of his suddenly dry throat, Light managed to croak out the inevitable question. "What condition was that?"

She wiped the tears from her eyes, all the joy gone from the morning. "I had to be stupid enough to fall for it. And I almost was."

Without another word, she ran past him, out of the communications department, for someplace else, anywhere else where Thomas Light and bionic legs and binary interfaces were not.

Light couldn't bring himself to turn and watch her leave. Defeated, he waited until the sound of her muffled sobs were only a memory, then trudged to his desk and collapsed into the chair where she had been sitting only moments before.

Her digital tablet lay on the side of his monitor. Thomas picked it up and scanned over the contents, sadly validating what she'd never come out and definitively said.

Vanessa Tercel had solved the riddle of the interface. For all the good it did him now.

He set the tablet back down and rested his face in his hands, letting out a long and anguished sigh. "I only wanted you to be happy."

Vanessa, of course, offered no reply.

* * *

Dr. Albert Wily loved to tinker. Surrounded by solder, circuits, wires and servos, he existed in a peaceful world where nothing else mattered except the creation in his hands. For all his complaining about the ruined experiments that his team suffered, he only applied the word 'setback' to those most serious cases and situations. As the head of the department, he found himself inundated most days by the task of managing the others, coordinating their efforts, and making sure that they were meeting their project goals. It was tiresome work, and definitely the more boring side of his life.

His refuge, naturally enough, was to take on the duties of his laboratory assistants and technicians by joining them in the process of construction. It reminded him of simpler times, and allowed him to focus his almost eternal consternation on simpler problems of machinery, as opposed to the more difficult issue of people.

If he had a problem with a person, there was no quick fix. A defect could not be corrected by removing the malfunctioning part and replacing it. Machines were cleaner, more absolute. Wires could be rewired. Circuits replaced. Even metallic exo and endoskeletons could be reforged. A broken person simply remained broken.

_Of course, I could have been a doctor of medicine…_He mused to himself, fidgeting with a gearbox to make sure it was up to his standards. _But then I would have played with "Operation" as a kid and not K'nex._

It was a peaceful day at the robotics department. The others around him were also similarly cheerful, for nothing enlightened their spirits so much as watching their superior delve back into the inner world he so loved. The 'mad scientist' could be caught smiling placidly in his deliberations…And more importantly, time that Albert William Wily spent working with his hands was time he didn't spend yelling at them. Someone had even put some music on; a gift from the eccentric Doctor Light down the hall, they went about their business to the aged lyrics of Huey Lewis and the News. The only thing that could have made it more perfect was an open window. Of course, they had no windows to speak of.

A ringing chime interrupted the steady flow of the music, and Wily's eyes flashed up from his rebuild towards the sound. It was his computer; He'd just been sent something.

He glanced around. Some of the others looked back, but went to their own projects. It was his message; whether or not he answered it mattered little to them in the long run. Wily pondered just letting it lie, but that was probably not the best choice. It might be a message from Simdorn, or some other official either within the Institute or outside of it.

"The perks of being the boss." Wily sighed, putting aside his work and making for the console. "If this is another damned spam message about natural male enhancement, I'm going to yell long and hard at Simdorn about upping our filters…"

He promptly stopped talking as soon as he opened up his inbox. "What?"

**From: Dr. Thomas X. Light**

**Subject: The Bionic Interface**

_Thank Vanessa._

_-Tom_

**Download Attachments: (**blcpu-modtercel.yacc)

blcpu-intrfce.bat)

**Y/N?**

Wily blinked. "The devil?" He muttered, rubbing at his eyes. It didn't change what he saw. Light had mailed him two documents. The original source code, renamed after Vanessa Tercel, and a second file, a batch.

"Interface?" He muttered, downloading both to his peripheral storage drive. He opened up his antivirus and turned it loose on the files. A blip later, it reported no immediate danger, though it gave the obligatory warning that came with open source code. Wily, no stranger to such things, ignored it and opened up the message again.

The quiet and confused attitude he displayed began to attract the attention of the others. It wasn't long before he had a few of his senior staff peering over his shoulder.

"What is it, doctor?"

"It seems that…Our new friend came through for us." Wily answered hesitantly. "But he's not much for talking. There's almost no text in the body. He only says two words."

"Really?" Another technician that wasn't standing by him asked, perking up the entire room's interest. "Would it happen to read 'eff you,' by any chance?"

A few chuckles rang throughout the room, for certainly that notion had been entertained out of frustration more than once in the robotics department.

"You'd think so, but no." Wily answered calmly. He turned about in his chair, searching the room until he met the only pair of eyes that mattered.

Vanessa Tercel's.

"He said, 'Thank Vanessa." Wily announced coolly, raising a thick black eyebrow in her direction. He expected an answer.

Still numb and exhausted from her discovery of Light's duplicitous actions, she found the statement to be as salt in the wound. "Why would he thank me?"

Wily glanced at the files Light had sent again, then shrugged. "It's your work; the files have your name."

She frowned, and moved over to Wily's station. "Let me see."

"All right." The mad scientist shrugged and opened up the batch file. Vanessa stared at it, and shook her head after twenty seconds of observation.

"I…don't understand…"

"Well, this is definitely your work." Wily mumbled, tapping the screen where the code carried her trademark style.

Her ears roared, and Vanessa felt dizzy. She stumbled back, shaking her head even harder. _He sent my code. He sent MINE._

It didn't make any sense. Light's had been cleaner, more concise. His was better, and still…

**Thank Vanessa.**

She had lost track of her surroundings, trapped within her own thoughts. Somehow, Wily and the other technicians had loaded up the new program file and the batch interface into another model of the bionic legs and endoskeletal structure.

It walked about; still jerky at points, but consistent and solid.

Cheers rose up, and even Wily, rolling his mustache, cracked a rare smile of approval. "Well, I'll be."

"Doctor Wily, I'm reading the resistance levels, and…"

"Yes?"

The technician stared at his monitor, stunned as Vanessa had been. "It's…stable. There's no cascade failure! The interface program is sustaining the communication rate!"

"Give a room full of monkeys typewriters…" Wily muttered, alluding to a very famous, but very incorrect saying. "Well, people, I'd say some congratulations are in order." He walked up to Vanessa and held out his hand. "Looks like you pulled it off, Miss Tercel."

"I did." She repeated, as much for her own muddled benefit as his own.

"I'd hope so." The robotic engineer continued, giving her hand the barest of shakes when she finally responded. "Light apparently has given you all the credit."

_Just like he was going to do all along,_ she realized. A sick feeling ran over her for a bit. He had lied to her. He had led her on.

And in the end…he'd proven her doubts wrong.

Thomas X. Light had sacrificed a chance at some much needed credit and acclaim within the Institute for her sake. He had believed, when nobody else did, that she could succeed.

She pardoned herself hastily from the others and dashed for the hall. She had to speak with him…

Yet his door was closed and locked, and all the lights were off.

He had never locked his door before.

Vanessa sank to her knees, disoriented and still unsure whether or not to hate him or admire him. Now, she couldn't even decide that much. He wasn't around for her to make the snap judgment in one direction or another she so desperately wanted.

* * *

_A County Road _

_The Outskirts above Redmond_

_10:49 P.M._

He would have found the sight of the glistening Pacific coast city soothing any other night, but this one was ruined by disappointment.

A soft breeze kept the night moving, but his black bomber's jacket kept the chill far away. Light likely wouldn't have noticed it anyhow.

_There's no coming back from this one. This time…you really did it._

Light thought of himself as a dreamer. His outlook was shaded every direction by that notion. It didn't mean that he thought the world was all flowers and smiles; Exposure to fifteen different languages and nearly every culture in the world had brought the sad realities home quite well. What it meant was that he believed the world could change for the better. It was likely that there were others throughout time who had had similar hopes for the whole of humanity, only to have those hopes dashed. Light usually paid such thoughts little heed, for every new generation was a new chance, and he intended to make his count.

This time, unfortunately, being a dreamer didn't pay off.

Not long after Vanessa had stormed out of his department, Simdorn had dropped by, asking him again why he still didn't have anybody on staff. Light reiterated his statement; they'd come if they wanted.

_But nobody came. And nobody will._

Simdorn had said as much. Whispers were spreading, and Light's name was becoming almost as legendary as Wily's when it came to the crackpots of the Institute. For all the differences that Light saw between them, it was ironic that they could be used in the same sentence. Maybe they weren't so different after all.

"So what now, Doctor Light?" He asked himself aloud. "What now?"

It was like the old song. _Should I stay or should I go now…_

He was marked now. Nobody at the Institute would join up with him. He had ideas, but the truth was that without a team standing behind him, whatever he brought to the Contest would have an indelible stigma of lone wolf, and thus, failure.

He shut his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. "There's really only one thing you can do."

It hurt to think about it. He was beaten. He had no allies and dwindling prospects. A week into his new career, he'd effectively ended it. Wily had benefited, but the person his plan had been meant for, Vanessa, now just saw him as little more than a manipulative bastard.

All of those factors added up to one indelible conclusion. He would have to resign from the Institute. With his degree and expertise, he'd have no trouble in finding a job as a translator, either for the State Department or some company…but his dream of the Network would meet a sudden and saddening end. Only at the Institute would he have been able to put it into motion.

_I guess 'reality' wins this time. _

Maybe that inward sentiment wasn't entirely accurate, however. He climbed back on his motorcycle and started the engine, reaching for his helmet with a sad shake of his head.

Perhaps it wasn't that reality won.

Perhaps it was that aimless dreaming always lost.

* * *

_National Institute of the Sciences_

_Robotics Department_

_May 28__th__, 2039 C.E._

_8:14 A.M._

Wily, like most of the people who worked for him, was not a morning person. He forced himself to move in the morning, and did his job without complaining. He expected no less from the people in his department.

Of course, even he couldn't stifle his yawn entirely, though he sucked it between his teeth and tightened his face to make it less noticeable. It helped that somebody was approaching him when it happened; he rushed the process and rubbed at his balding forehead.

"Miss Tercel." He greeted the woman. Vanessa, ever the sight of beauty in their midst, gave him a cursory nod. She held a document in her right hand, but said nothing. Wily shrugged and swiveled his chair about to face her, resting his hands on his stomach. "It's early. We're not scheduled to begin our work for another twenty minutes or so yet."

"I know, sir." She replied, polite but short. Wily's quiet eyes twinkled for a long moment, then he leaned his head to the side, indicating that she should continue. "I thought I would speak with you."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with yesterday's successful run of the bionic legs, would it?"

"I thought I would ask if you were pleased with it."

"I believe I made my opinions known yesterday when I shook your hand." Albert Wily countered calmly. "But if it needs repeating, I was pleased, yes. Light gave you full credit for the discovery, by his E-Mail. I haven't heard anything more from him since then." His thick black mustache twitched briefly. "May I still hold that to be true, or did he give you credit for all of the project when only some was deserved?"

"He didn't lie." Vanessa's voice was distant, even though her eyes never left his gaze. "It was my code. The idea came to me in the middle of the night."

"At least you didn't have to fall off a toilet to have your one breakthrough." Her superior remarked, reaching a hand up to scratch at his chin. "Is there something else I can do for you?"

She breathed in for a long moment, then nodded and handed over the document in her hand. "You can process this."

Wily frowned and turned it about, giving it a cursory glance. A few seconds later, he looked up, and his face was dark.

"This is a resignation letter."

"It is." Vanessa agreed, bracing herself. She would need the courage to carry through with this. "But not from the Institute entirely. Just from the robotics department."

Albert William Wily was nobody's fool, even if he did lack a certain degree of sociability. He set the letter aside and leaned back in his seat, giving her a long, hard stare. "You're transferring."

"Yes."

"To him." Wily muttered, and they both knew he meant Thomas Light. "But I find myself pondering why. Is it to escape me? Because of how I treat you?"

"A while ago, that would have been the reason." She snapped at him, glad to finally be able to say it. "I finally proved all your prejudice wrong. I found the solution, I created the interface." She pressed her first two fingers to her temple before continuing. "But I'm not transferring because of you. I won't give you the satisfaction. I'm doing this because he tried to help me. I just think I owe it to him to return the favor."

Wily scoffed, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "Apparently, my warnings go unheeded by everyone these days. You never could drag yourself to be realistic, Miss Tercel. You've heard the rumors as much as I have. He's gained a reputation at the Institute, as bad as the robotics department, but without anything to show for the stigma. Do you still think yourself a dreamer?"

Vanessa smiled, a confident, satisfied look that spoke of inner resolve. His words would never touch her again.

"No." She said, bidding him farewell in the motion. "I'm something in between. Like you."

She turned and walked from the room, her briefcase full of her personal files and work.

Wily rubbed at his chin for a few moments after her departure, then turned to consider the letter of resignation sitting on his desk.

He made his final mental motions of acceptance, then picked it up and placed it in his inbox. "It's your life, Vanessa." He mused to himself.

_You will live it as you see fit._

* * *

_The Communications Department_

For all the clutter his work had caused, it was remarkably easy to sift it all back away in the bin boxes he'd brought with him. Of all the things which had gone wrong in his life, at least that much went right. Thomas Light had taken pictures of the notes drawn on his whiteboards. Even if he would never again have the chance to put his dream of the Networks to use, some part of him remained ever the scholar who insisted on preserving his work. At least it could crumble into dust well-ordered.

Light moved slowly; he didn't enjoy the prospect, and this was after a night's restless sleep. Apparently a single pass of the moon wasn't enough time to contemplate the defeat he'd walked into. The part of all this he dreaded was what he would say to Director Simdorn. The man had brought him aboard with high hopes. Light knew that Simdorn had already made plans to stop by early in the morning to see how he was doing, so it was just a matter of time.

He heard his door swing open, and tensed up. The moment passed and he let his shoulders sag, returning to filing his documents. Better to just bite the bullet and be done with it. "I'll be with you in a second. I'm just packing up a few more of my files."

His guest glanced around, surprised at the scene. It all suggested, quite blatantly that Light was moving out.

"Why? Are you that eager to leave?" Vanessa asked.

Light froze up again, and this time turned about. He blinked a few times. It was her, all right…and in spite of everything, she was smiling.

"What are you doing here?" Thomas asked with a croak.

She shrugged, stepping carefully about his boxes with her hands in the pockets of her white laboratory coat. "I have my reasons."

"After what I did, I didn't think you'd ever speak to me again."

She paused, considering the unsavory notion for a few long moments. She finally nodded. "Yesterday…I hated you for what you did. But I gave it some thought. I also saw the E-Mail you sent to Wily. We all did."

"It worked then." He realized.

"It went without a hitch. But you said, 'Thank Vanessa.' And you sent _my_ file. Not yours, even though it was better." She took a few more steps in his direction, nervous. "You said you did all of that to help me. So I could get my confidence back. I didn't believe you at first. But if you'd been lying, you would have sent your file. You would have taken the credit for it. You gave it all to me." She shook her head. "And you didn't have to."

"You've been stomped on enough in your life." Light mumbled, turning back to his work. "I was raised believing you helped people."

"If that's the case, then why are you packing up to leave?" She accused him. "How does quitting help anyone?"

"You've heard the whispers. I'm just another nutjob around here. Nobody wants to work with me. I've been blacklisted from the getgo." He laughed bitterly and closed the lid on another box. "Simdorn's been riding my carcass for days now. Without anybody else in this department, any project proposal I'd offer for the Contest would just be a pipe dream."

Vanessa pursed her lips. "But…what if somebody did come to work with you?"

"What, you know anybody who's willing to throw their lot in with a lunatic dreamer like me?"

"I might." Vanessa murmured. "Unless I'm lying to myself."

That caught his attention again, though he didn't turn about to look at her. Not immediately. He'd met his quota of double takes for the day. "You…want to work with me?"

"I just need to clarify something first. I don't approve of what you did to 'help' me. Nobody likes being a part of an experiment, Thomas. But…in spite of that, you did it for the right reasons. You believed in me when nobody else was willing to, and that says a lot about your character." She nodded, more confident in her voice. "And I'd much rather work for somebody who believes I can work miracles than somebody who thinks I'm nothing but a walking failure."

Light rose back up and turned around to face her, concern lining his face. "But Vanessa…I run the communications department. You're a robotics engineer. What can you do here that won't make your own skills go to waste?"

"I'll think of something." She smiled. "I've been meaning to brush up on my coding, and you can certainly teach me that. I can teach you a thing or two about robotics as well…who knows? Maybe another idea will come to you." She raised her hand to stifle his next protest. "I've already given Wily my resignation letter, so don't you dare try to talk me out of this. Something you'll learn, Mr. Light, is that when I make up my mind, nothing on earth or in heaven can change it."

"I wouldn't change a thing about you, my dear." Light chuckled. He glanced around. "Of course, this means that I can't quit, doesn't it?"

"Unless you're planning to put me out of a job as well. And I don't think you're the kind to make girls cry."

"_Verdammt." _Thomas sighed. He held out his hand. "Well, my dear Vanessa, for what it's worth…welcome aboard the ill-fated department of dreamers."

"There's nothing wrong with being a dreamer." Vanessa argued, shaking on it. "You just have to temper it, direct it. Find the utility."

Light nodded; He could see the logic in that. And when he thought about it, there was certainly utility at work in his dream of the Network. "So, what shall we do first?"

"What else?" She remarked, looking around to the scattered whiteboards. "You want to give the world a Second Coming of the internet; This 'Network', right?"

"More than anything."

"Well, let's get to your Suzuki and go do some quality thinking."

That surprised Thomas Light. "You know motorcycles?"

"Oh yes. My father likes to collect them." She said off-handedly. "I felt an odd vibration the last time you took me for a ride; I could have a look at it, if you'd like."

Light beamed, and she raised an eyebrow at the odd gesture. "What?"

"I think I'm going to like having an engineer as my partner."

"Partner?" Vanessa repeated dubiously. "I'm not a doctor, Thomas. I only have my master's degree. I couldn't be…"

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you're my partner. You can call yourself an assistant or whatever you like, but that's what it's going to read on your business card." Light insisted.

His phone rang. Neither moved, and it rang again. Vanessa raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you going to answer that?"

Light smiled and crossed his arms. "Well, you work here now. Why don't you answer the first call of the day?"

"Wonderful." Vanessa muttered, walking over to the device. "The first thing you tell me to do; answer the phone. I didn't know I was going to be your secretary."

"Did I mention I make you coffee?" Light added, trying to defuse the faux pas.

"Relax, Thomas." Vanessa punched the speakerphone button. "Communications department. Who's calling?"

The other end of line was silent for a moment before an old, but friendly voice spoke up. "Light? Are you there, man?" It was unmistakably Director Simdorn.

Vanessa stifled a small laugh and looked back to her 'partner.' Light ruffled his mussy brown hair and nodded. "I'm here, sir. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I was just calling to tell you I had lined up some prospective assistants. You need somebody else on your staff besides yourself, you know."

Light merely grinned to the phone. "I don't think that'll be a problem anymore, sir. You were just talking to my first associate."

"Who?" Came Simdorn's surprised query.

"Vanessa Tercel, Director." Vanessa announced. "It's good to hear from you."

"Tercel?" Simdorn murmured. Thomas and Vanessa could almost see the old scientist scratching his head to think of her. "Don't you work for Wily in the robotics department?"

"I did, sir. I just transferred this morning. You should be seeing the paperwork later today."

"I'll keep that in mind." Simdorn agreed. "Damn, Light. I'll have to tell the other department heads to watch themselves. It seems like you're primed to steal their people right from under their noses."

Light shook his head, more for Vanessa's benefit than the disembodied voice of his superior. "I told you a while ago, sir. I'm not stealing anybody." Vanessa looked towards him, and Light met her curious gaze with a warm and thankful smile. "They'll come because they want to."

Vanessa beamed at the compliment, and Light kept smiling. For a change, things were finally beginning to work out. And this time…

He wouldn't be facing the future alone.


	4. Silver and Gold

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Three: Silver and Gold**

"_The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains, rivers, and cities; but to know someone here and there who thinks and feels with us, and though distant, is close to us in spirit, this makes the earth for us an inhabited garden." -Goethe_

* * *

_Redmond Airfield_

_Redmond, Washington_

_June 6__th__, 2039 C.E._

_9:14 A.M._

Redmond, while a bustling center of activity, was far from the urban and metropolitan sprawls which towns like Seattle had grown to. They didn't have an international airport, or even an airfield which supported the jumbo jets that most people flew on. The largest aircraft that Redmond could take in was a twenty-seater, a descendant of the infamous lear jets of years past. This restriction led Redmond's air traffic a distinctly personal air; most pilots who flew in were on a first name basis with the tower.

_"Gulf-Tango-Seven, you're cleared for final approach."_ The tower crackled out its message to the incoming ten passenger jet.

_"Acknowledged, tower. Brew up a fresh pot of java, would you?" _

The tower operator chuckled a bit. _"You can make it yourself. See you on the ground in a bit, Horace."_

The jet flew in on decreasing power, coming to a stop and taxiing off of the runway to the disembarkation area. After the relatively slow journey, its engines toggled off, and the crew unlocked the main hatch.

A ramp dropped from the door, collapsing into stairs and growing rigid. The air hostess came off first, smiling and helping the others down. "Watch your step." Came the customary warning.

Most of the passengers were businessmen, returning to their offices or going to meetings. Two of the individuals that stepped off of that small commercial jet, however, were dressed for vacation.

Lisa Marine stepped off and held her hand up to keep her auburn hair from getting in her eyes. "One of these days, I swear I'm going to cut this." She grumbled. "It's too much work to keep clear."

Rick Williamson, her fiancée and constant companion, stepped down after her, grinning as he did. "Oh, come on. It took you years to grow that beautiful hair of yours out that long. Don't cut it off! Put it in a braid or something."

"And perhaps I should put it in a blue hair band and dye it blond, hmm?" Lisa countered. "I'll do what I want with my hair, Rick."

"But I fell in love with that hair." Rick argued feebly. "Come on, baby. Just for me…keep it like it is?" Lisa wrinkled her nose at him, and her fiancée let out another laugh. "Not even for all the tea in China, huh?"

They hefted their bags up and walked for the entrance lobby.

"Maybe I should get it cut." Lisa resolved, slipping into a coy smile. "It would be interesting to see if he would remember me without my long tresses."

"Knowing him, the man would remember you if he was blind and half-deaf." Richard pointed out. The two shared a long chuckle and continued on. "Come on. Let's drop our stuff off at the hotel before we go bother him."

"I hope we're not going to interrupt anything important." Lisa commented worriedly when they passed by the sliding glass doors.

"Nah." Rick scoffed, following after her. "Knowing Tom, he's probably just causing trouble."

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Later that morning_

"The Hell?" Vanessa mumbled, frowning at the screen. Dr. Light had asked her to check his most recent numbers in a set of schematics, which she had moved to do. Of all the things she expected to see on his monitor when she broke the screensaver, however, a random string of gibberish in German was clearly not one of them.

Light, who had his sweaty brow furrowed over a motherboard he was soldering, poked his head up long enough to glance at her. "Something wrong, Vanessa?"

The engineer and only other member of the communications department turned about in his reclining swivel chair and pointed at the screen. "Perhaps you could explain to me exactly what _kannst du fer mich mein affe verscholen _means."

Light raised an eyebrow, then let off a throaty guffaw and grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, lord. I forgot I'd written that."

Vanessa drummed her fingers on his desk. "I'm assuming there's a point to this?"

Light went back to his soldering work and breathed out a long sigh, recovering from his laugh. "Tell me, Vanessa. When you were a kid and you had your first brush with a foreign language, what's the first thing you learned?"

"Swear words." She clipped back. "So are you telling me that this is some sort of longwinded malediction?"

"Something like that." Light hummed. "Al and I have been participating in an old fashioned flame war. On friendly terms, of course. That phrase you just read is my next attack."

"What does it mean?"

"Well, since you're a lady, it wouldn't be proper of me to translate it." He wrinkled his nose at the ozone fumes his soldering put off for a moment. "Suffice it to say, I'm propositioning him."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Just keep me out of it then. I've got enough on my mind without worrying about what you and my former boss are using as insults at each other. How's that board coming?"

"To be honest, soldering was never my thing." Thomas admitted, pulling the heated probe back for a moment to examine his work. "I thought this was why I had you around anyhow."

"If you kept relying on me to do the hardware side of things in your mad schemes, Thomas, you would never learn anything." She corrected him. "It's good for you! Expand your mind some."

"I've forgotten more about linguistics than most people learn in a lifetime. I think my mind's expanded enough." He whined. It didn't stop him from resuming his work, and Vanessa smiled before opening up his database.

Their time together had been vastly productive. With Vanessa around, Light had found a second voice to bounce ideas off of, as well as somebody who could expand on them if they were feasible. On the side, she had taken it upon herself to try and teach him everything she knew about engineering and robotics…With the understanding he would teach her Russian in the interim. Vanessa had no doubt she would become fluent long before Thomas Light became a force in the field of robotic technology, which made the bet a safe one.

The next minute went by in silence, and then Vanessa pushed away from Light's desk. "The numbers look solid." She said approvingly. "I'm surprised."

"That they're right?" Light grinned, pulling his soldering iron back for the last time. "I may not like hardware, Vanessa, but mathematics is a language like any other. And I know languages."

Vanessa arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said you only spoke fifteen languages."

"Human languages." Thomas pointed out, holding up the soldered motherboard and examining it in the light of their laboratory. "Though I can't really speak programming language or binary, I understand them well enough to squeak by."

"Thus your standing." Vanessa smirked, printing out a duplicate of his schematics for her own files. "A minor programmer and a major ass."

Light threw her a mocking scowl, and the robotics engineer laughed. "Come on. Show me how you did."

With all the petulance of a slighted schoolboy, Light walked over to his associate and offered the motherboard. She took it by the edges carefully and turned it over several times with an approving nod. "Well, it won't win you any beauty contests, but it's functional. I'd give you a C. Not bad for your first time."

"It's not the best comment I've ever gotten, but I'll roll with it."

"There was a time you couldn't take a compliment, Tom. Glad to see that's changed."

Every so often in a person's life, there will come a time when they are thoroughly and completely surprised and thrown off their guard. For Dr. Thomas Light, one such time was when he heard a familiar, yet wholly unexpected voice utter that good-natured phrase.

"…No, it couldn't be." He murmured, glancing at Vanessa and blinking. No, it certainly couldn't be. After all, that person was half a continent away, and he certainly wouldn't be at the Institute. He turned about, hoping to be proven wrong…but of course, knew full well in the pit of his heart that the opposite was true.

It was with a full grin that he looked to the entrance door of the communications department and found himself staring at Richard Williamson and Lisa Marine. He hadn't seen them since graduation, but they looked the same. Time, in the bloom of youth, simply did not take hold as it would in old age. "Well, I'll be dipped." Light bellowed with a loud laugh. He shook his head and walked towards them, holding his arms out at his sides. "Rick! Lisa! What the devil are you two doing here?"

The three shared a powerful hug before Tom backed off to give them room to speak. Rick winked at him and shrugged. "Well, we bumped into this odd character by the name of Simdorn. He gave us directions to your place…twice, actually."

Light snorted. "Yeah, that's Simdorn. He's a great guy, though. But what I meant was, what are you two doing in Redmond?? You're living in Indiana still, aren't you?"

"Still are, and working there now too." Lisa nodded proudly. "But we figured we could spare a day or two of vacation to come out and see how you were doing."

"I wish you'd called." Light insisted, though his smile announced proudly that he was glad they had come regardless.

"If we had called, Tom, we wouldn't have been able to see that dumb look on your face." Rick patted his former College roommate on the shoulder. "And I just _had_ to see that."

Tired of being left out of the conversation, Vanessa strolled up into their midst with her hands in her lab coat's pockets. She smiled at the two guests and cocked an eyebrow at Tom. "And when were you going to introduce these two to me?"

Light cleared his throat and blushed a little. "Of course. I'm sorry, Vanessa, I lost track of my manners for a moment. Vanessa Tercel, this is my old College roomie Rick Williamson and his blushing fiancée, Lisa Marine. Guys, this is Vanessa."

Rick nodded at Vanessa, and even stared for a moment after before he caught himself and looked back to Light with another dopey smile. Lisa stepped closer to Tom's associate and held out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Vanessa. Tom's told us a little about you."

"Nothing too embarrassing, I hope." Vanessa answered drily, shaking the woman's hand.

"Exactly the opposite." Rick chortled. "He says you're one of the most brilliant people he knows in this thinktank. You helped him solve that riddle of Wilby's."

"Wily's." Tom corrected his friend.

"Aah, right. Wily, sorry." Rick continued. "I'm glad that you're working with him, though. He calls you his better half…"

Rick's sentence was cut off short when Lisa suddenly nudged him sharply in the ribs with an elbow, choking him off with a burning glower. The damage had been done, however; Vanessa narrowed her eyes at her partner, waiting for an answer.

"Er, professionally, of course." Tom coughed. "You help to give my ideas some much needed substance."

"Of course." Vanessa murmured, not believing the feeble excuse for an instant. She knew full well that Light had at one time entertained romantic notions in his head about her. Apparently, those notions hadn't completely dwindled away, for as much as he hid it.

The engineer blinked once to clear her head and turned back to Lisa and Rick with a warm, but fainter smile. "So, then. Did you come for the tour?"

"Simdorn gave us the tour of the Institute already." Rick chirped in. "We were actually going to kidnap Tom for a while and force him to show us the sights." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a set of tickets. "Aaaand we got it on good word of the hotel staff that there's a carnival that just set up shop five miles out of town." Rick winked at Light. "I think you know what that means, roomie."

"Oh good lord, you can't be serious." Tom paled. "Not another…"

"FUNNEL CAKE CONTEST!!" Rick roared, cackling like a pirate. Lisa cringed and put her head in her hand, letting out a long sigh.

Vanessa cleared her throat and gave the curious scientist she called friend a look. "What about the Contest? We've barely scratched the surface."

"How did the numbers look?" Tom countered.

The blond-haired engineer frowned. "I told you. They looked good."

"Then we can spare a day." Light smiled.

"Wait a minute." Vanessa lifted a hand up in protest. "We? Thomas, we're really running short on time here. I can't afford to stop. You can't either."

"I'll pull night shifts and sleep here at the Institute for a couple of days after this." He reassured her. "And no, you're not staying here by yourself. You're coming with us."

"No, I'm not!"

"Rubbish." Tom snorted. He pulled off his lab coat and walked for the coat rack, grabbing his black leather jacket. "Now the way I see it, Vanessa, you have two choices. You can either come with us willingly, or I can call Director Simdorn and tell him that I'm declaring this rabid badger day, and I got the idea from you."

Vanessa threw a pleading look to Lisa, hoping for a sympathetic voice. "Is he always this stubborn?"

"Worse, usually." Lisa smiled, a smaller expression than the grin worn by her fiancée. "You might as well come along. We did get four tickets anyhow."

"Lucky me." Vanessa grumbled. She pulled off her lab coat and tossed it across a nearby chair. "So what are we doing first, then?"

"Lunch." Rick remarked, turning for the door. "I'm starving. Are there any good places around here to get some chow?"

"If you're going to experience the Pacific coast, learn to call it by its proper name." Light countered, leading Vanessa and Lisa after his boisterous friend. "It's grub."

* * *

Luckily for the unlikely group of old college friends and scientists, Redmond had more than its fair share. In the interest of having a decent meal, they put up with the expense of going to a sub shop. Meat, of course, was the most expensive purchase there was.

Rick stared down forlornly at his sandwich. "Double meat used to run you three dollars when I was a kid. Now it's six."

"I seem to recall my father getting all wistful about his College days; apparently, it was a popular practice to raid a McDonald's for double cheeseburgers." Lisa piped up. She took another draw on her iced tea and shrugged. "But it's better this way, I think. We're not tempted to do something that stupid."

Vanessa had been observing the two old friends of Light for the duration, looking for some clue in their interactions which would help her to better understand her partner. She found them to be cheerful, but a far cry from Light's personality. Rick and Lisa, both so clearly in love with one another, were chipper and extroverted. They loved to talk.

Light smiled just as they did, but his own comments were more limited and focused than theirs. There was a level of calculation in his tone and conversation that spoke of continuous thought.

He _had_ changed, however. He seemed more relaxed. His smiles were wider, his jokes were more candid. Vanessa had thought before that Thomas Light wasn't one for pretense, as his interactions were informal, by her experience.

Sitting with his friends, Vanessa realized that she was seeing the real Dr. Light for the first time. She wasn't angry at the deception, because it had been unconscious.

Thomas Light simply _was_ now, instead of reaching to be something else in his inventions and pursuits.

One thing hadn't changed about him, though. His eyes still shone as brightly.

No matter what situation Light found himself in, he still walked with eyes that focused on the distant goals called dreams.

"So what is it exactly that you and Tom do, Vanessa?" Lisa's question once again brought Vanessa Tercel's mind to the present.

The blond-haired scientist thought about it for a moment. "At the moment, we're the only two members of the communications department. We're working on one of Thomas' crazy ideas; he's looking to revolutionize the internet."

"You don't say?" Rick grinned, popping a potato chip into his mouth. He crunched it loudly before continuing. "I don't suppose you're going to eliminate spam for all time?"

"If only." Tom smiled genially, rubbing his thumb along the back of his arm. "But this will do some good too."

"Can't get into the specifics, eh?" Lisa teased. "Afraid that somebody's out for your secrets?"

"Most people don't know much about Thomas yet." Vanessa piped in, reaching for her drink. "He's very much an unknown entity within the Institute, and most people would dismiss him because of that." She took a sip and swallowed, buying herself time for emphasis. "It's our one advantage, at the moment."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure that we even have that luxury anymore." Tom disagreed coolly. "I'm quite sure that Al has a grasp on my real talents…and even if people shy away from the "mad scientist," I would imagine word's been getting around. The Institute, I've found, is very much a goldmine for gossip."

"The ins and outs of your world." Rick chuffed. "They confuse me. But as long as you understand it, more power to ya. Has it been as rewarding as you thought it would be?"

"I've been at the Institute for less than a month." The brown-haired genius admonished his former roommate. "I won't know for sure what the rewards are until the Contest."

"The Contest?" Lisa perked her ears up.

"It's a competition held between the various departments at the Institute every year." Vanessa interjected. "A panel from the government comes and observes the different projects that we all spend the rest of the year working on. Whatever project they deem to have the most merit receives full funding, and its team gains considerable prestige and opportunities for career advancement."

"It's a way for people like me to give back to their country and make it better than how we found it." Tom continued. "Besides, the private sector's a bitch."

His frank comment shattered what little propriety was left. Rick guffawed, and Lisa merely smiled.

Vanessa, having decided to take this opportunity to observe her superior, said nothing and finished off her drink.

It helped to hide the smile.

* * *

_The Institute_

While Light and his friends dallied with flights of fancy, there was one soul who had decided there were more important things to do than reminisce of the old days.

The twenty-six year old Dr. Albert W. Wily had his hands in another one of the myriad gadgets the robotics department was famous for creating. He was running on reduced staff; a handful of his team was off preparing another one of their projects. For the time being, that was perfectly fine with Wily.

It gave him a chance to do more of the 'hands on' work that had gotten him into robotics in the first place.

"Define biodynotics." Wily commanded suddenly, breaking the concentrating silence they had been operating under. A few heads stirred, and minds that had been busy with wires and code began to churn into new fields.

"Biological robots?" One ventured uneasily. Wily stifled the urge to roll his eyes.

"Wrong."

"Robotics for biological organisms."

"_Nein! Sprechen zie lunatic…"_ Wily snapped, slipping fast into his mumblings about how they were talking like madmen. He caught himself after a time and sighed. "Biodynotics…It was a very popular field at one time. It's a branch of robotics concerned with using nature as inspiration for its designs."

The formerly blank stares began to show dawning signs of comprehension. "Like how aerospace engineers look at birds for jet designs?" One suggested hopefully.

"Precisely so." Wily continued, pulling his hands out of the mechanic droid—or mechanoid, as he preferred to call them—creature and reaching for a hex screwdriver. He sealed the dorsal hatch plate and turned to look back at them. "Now, then. Which one of you monkeys would like to explain why I would bring biodynotics up?"

"…Because this robot we're working on uses biodynotics?"

"Well, well. Somebody WAS paying attention. You win the internet."

"Really?"

"No, not really. And for the record, that joke was idiotic forty years ago." Wily lambasted them. "But you are correct." He lifted up the mechanoid for all of them to see.

Once gunmetal gray, the robot had been spray painted a deep neon green; it hadn't been Wily's choice of color, but at least it wasn't blue…

It stood approximately twenty inches tall, and twenty four inches long. Four legs, each with five extendable digits attached to hypersensitive servos waded out underneath its body, giving it the support it needed. The only thing which marked it as having any sort of presence for more than a coffee table was its cephalic extension; the head. Even unpowered, focused optics waited behind thick plasteel corneas to do their work. "This has been the product of our last eight months of work. You all know it as well as I do."

"The unnamed model." One of the more experienced lab rats agreed solemnly. "When are we going to get around to naming it?"

"You could call it whatever you liked, it wouldn't change a damn thing. Besides, people get too attached to names." Wily resolved coolly, setting it down. The hydraulic braces that served as its knees settled half an inch before propping it up. "I've chosen to keep it without a designation so there isn't any expectations…or disappointments. Keep an open mind, as it were."

"So where does biodynotics enter into the equation?" Another asked curiously.

"Many of you found it curious when I told you to design this model with four limbs, didn't you?" Wily shot back, using the age-old method of answering a question with another question. The heads in the room glanced around, then began nodding…slowly. Even as informal as things were, few were willing to risk Wily's ire by implying he was crazy. Even if he came off like it, and joked about it some days.

"In all of nature, stability exists within organisms by where their center of gravity is located…and that has to deal with their legs. A spider can climb walls with eight. Insects can leap about with impunity at six." Wily smirked at that. "Of course, for the sake of marketability, I had to come to terms that nobody would want a mechanoid with as many legs as a millipede, so I cut it back to four; as many as a dog, or a cat…or a human."

"Humans don't have four le…" Another technician began, cutting himself short. Wily waited for the proverbial lightbulb to flash above his head, then nodded, prompting the man to finish his thought. "We have four limbs, though."

"Precisely." Wily went on. He glanced over to the technician at the station responsible for monitoring their projects. "Are we ready?"

"All system pre-start checklists came up green."

"And the new programming?"

"Installed. I had Benji do it."

"Good, then there won't be any problems there." Wily mused. "Now, the big question. Has the new control module been installed as well?"

"We had some minor power fluctuations, but we got them buffered."

"Small miracles." Wily sighed, offering another one of his rare, genuine, smiles. "Very well." He motioned for the others to back away from the table he'd set it on, then raised his hand. "Power it on, then!"

The activation signal went out noiselessly, invisibly. The results of it were what drew in every set of eyes.

The four-legged, neon green mechanoid whirred to life. Its deep cycle batteries transferred the necessary power to its systems, performing admirably. That style of power cell was old technology, but cheap, and worked well for their prototype models. Later on, Wily recalled briefly, they would install some of the newer hydrogen ion packs that were fast becoming the rage, thanks to their longer lifespan and minimal ecological impact.

Its four legs ran through a test cycle, lifting it up to its maximum stretch height of twenty-eight inches, then dropping it to the minimal two inch mark. Once it finished that, the thing's hydraulic cables and servos took it back up to its regulation height, flexing every toe as it went.

Its head was the source of the most activity; its optics whirred into focus, glimmering with a harsh, monochrome green light. Like its power cells, these too would be replaced with more advanced parts later on down the line. Still, as Wily said, if the thing was going to blow, there was no sense in letting a prototype piece of scrap take 125,000 of parts with it.

The thing looked around, craning its neck left, right, up and down, and in a complete circle before settling back into place. When the mechanoid had, to use a characterization, finished its stretching and yawning, it reverted to a hibernative posture and waited. The entire process had taken less than five seconds…but to the robotics engineers of the Institute who worked under Wily, it was five seconds of pure magic.

"Your work finally realized." Wily remarked, leaving a perfect capstone to their speechless awe. "Now, then. Mr. Ischene and his sub-team ran the trials on this three weeks ago. We know that this model can move at speeds of up to ten miles an hour, and demonstrates tremendous stability."

That was due in no small part to the revolutionary turn on digital gyroscopics which they'd uncovered seven months prior, just before beginning construction on this model. Through a lucky quirk, similar to how Silly Putty, the microwave, and Velcro was discovered, Wily's team had been working on building a more accurate digital level and ended up creating the next step in fluid robotic movement.

"Currently, its deep cycle chemical batteries allow it to generate enough power for five to eight hours of continued operations, depending on the strain." Wily continued, now merely rehashing the old data. "Conservative estimates show that the hydrogen ion power cells we've been saving for a rainy day would allow this model nearly four days of the same level of activity. Its reinforced titanium body shell will protect it from anything short of a two ton boulder being dropped on it, and we've rated it to maintain performance between a temperature differential of negative twenty to seventy five degrees centigrade." Wily paused for effect. "We won't be shipping it to Antarctica anytime soon, but it works well enough otherwise."

A few sparse chuckles rattled about the room, but died down quickly. Wily was on a roll and in his element, and his subdued excitement left a buzzing tingle in the air nobody wanted to ruin.

"As most of you have likely wagered, this mechanoid is designed to function in harsh environments for extended periods of time. It can perform minimal tasks on its own with its limited AI, or it can be maneuvered through its transceiver by a human controller. I envision this little bug becoming a part of the next wave of exploratory drones; there's a lot of places that it could go."

Wily folded his arms behind his back, and sighed. "But, of course, with all four of its legs busy with the business of moving it about, that tends to limit its role and effectiveness in other capacities. Most of you here are veterans; I don't need to remind you that what keeps our programs, this department afloat, is _versatility_. We may design robots for a living, but what shows us our success is when we acknowledge that our creations need to be tooled for as many possibilities as we can think of. It's easy enough to give this thing heat-shielding; Chemists cracked the heat-resistant polymer that replaced the shuttle's ceramic tiles twenty years ago. But it's not really that feasible to strap on a whole lot of different gadgets on the sides of this thing, just to make it do something else. It goes places; but doing things, sadly, would require appendages. Appendages that this thing can't spare, in its four legged configuration."

Again, Wily paused. He relished the moment; this was one of those rare times where the "Mad Scientist" revealed how deeply ahead he could think, and how calculating he truly was. "But we now have the ability to make it do more."

The technician at the control station input the critical command and crossed his fingers. He needn't have worried…Wily didn't.

A silent command passed across the air again, and the four-legged green mechanoid shuddered at the unusual request. It referenced its files, found the pertinent data, and followed the instructions.

It routed control, temporarily, to the new control module that had been installed only hours before. Impossibly, remarkably, the robot rocked off of its front legs and rested all its weight on its back haunches. The hydraulic muscles flexed and expanded, lifting it farther off of the ground.

The front legs had the more remarkable transformation: Its five servomotor-controlled digits extended out farther as well, gaining a second joint. The farthest toe out reversed itself and curled inward towards the rest…

Becoming a thumb, on a now perfectly formed hand.

Its front legs, now arms, extended their joints as well, and flexed in another test. The mechanoid's optics whirred and examined its new configuration for a moment, and then, following one last added bit of instruction from the technician in control, turned about to face the crowd of aghast and awestruck technicians…

And threw them the bird.

Wily, of course, was all smiles. "I hadn't planned on having Light come through with the bionic drive configurations…But it was a windfall that I soon realized we could take advantage of. For a while, I thought we might have to refer to another one of our projects for the Contest. No longer, my friends."

He turned about to face them, hands in his lab coat's pockets, and his black mustache twitching with superior air. "Biodynotics has met the grace of the human form. Just as our ancestors once learned to run on their hind legs alone and use their hands…So too, has our endeavor." Wily managed a dark chuckle, and for a moment, shivers cascaded in the room. Seeming for all the world like a Dr. Victor Frankenstein revived to the age of circuits and silicon, Wily lifted his hands in the air, offering a mockery of divine guidance. "This year…the Contest is OURS."

The possibilities, as Wily had implied, were endless. The technicians all glanced at each other, and at their pet robot, which now stood looking as gaunt as any four year old child.

They saw the future.

* * *

_Summer Carnival_

_Redmond, Washington_

The early hours of the afternoon found Richard Williamson with his head over a wastebasket, retching up every scrap of his lunch, and more importantly, gads and gads of partially digested sugar and carbohydrate. Thomas Light, once again in his black leather bomber's jacket, but keeping its sheen far from the blast zone, held his friend by the scruff of his neck. Light looked steadily uneasy himself, but was a far cry from his former roommate's condition.

"Got it all out yet?" Tom asked wearily, when his friend began to lurch back up. The rest of the passing crowd did their best to ignore them, although a few adolescents, true to the stereotype, couldn't resist a passing glib comment or two.

Rick's blurred eyes tried to focus in. "I…I think…" His cheeks swelled out again and he dove over the wastebasket's edge, letting the rest of his stomach's contents fly. Tom managed a cringe and looked back apologetically to the ladies that were alongside them.

"I'm sorry you had to see this. Rick loves these eating contests…but he never quite figured out that you can't go jumping around afterwards." Tom rolled his brilliant azure blue eyes. "Or riding the "Comet", either."

Rick convulsed a moment longer, groaning as if he were dying. "Screw you, Light…" He wheezed, pale and weak but finally out of bile. "Next time, I'll…"

"There won't be a next time." Lisa Marine interrupted, walking up to her fiancée with a dark scowl and a glass of Sprite. "Now drink this and shut up. It'll settle your stomach. Maybe it'll knock some sense into you as well."

One of the benefits that Vanessa had with a father who was a collector and motorcycle fanatic was that he liked to do dumb things as well. Eating contests…and the obvious problems that went with them…had been one of them long ago, when she was little. She shook her head at Light, who still felt the need to apologize. "It's all right, Thomas. I've seen worse." She tucked a hand into her pocket and nodded in Rick's direction. "How many times have you two done that?"

"Twice before." Tom replied grimly. "And each time, he ends up chundering."

"Oh-for-three, huh?" Vanessa remarked, allowing herself a reticent smile. "What's your secret to success?"

"The Light family stomach." Her Institute partner smiled, patting his slightly distended tummy. "Cast iron. But I'm getting too old for this…and my wallet just doesn't stretch as far as it used to." He tapped Rick on the shoulder. "So this'll be the last time we do this, all right?"

Rick mumbled a halfhearted agreement, then went back to sullenly sipping on his drink.

Tom scratched at his scruffy mane of brown hair, noting again how it refused to stay down for any length of time. "Well, ladies, I'd best stick with Rick for a while, and keep him out of trouble. He won't be much fun, though; Perhaps it would be better if the two of you went off and had fun on your own for an hour or so, until "La Grande Vomito" can pull himself together."

Vanessa and Lisa exchanged a befuddled glance for a moment, but Lisa had to agree with the wisdom of it. "All right, then. If anything changes, you know how to reach me." She tapped the side of her pants, and the cell phone underneath. She grabbed Vanessa by the arm and took them far away. Vanessa protested for a while, but soon realized it was one argument she wasn't going to win, and followed after.

Rick pouted again. "Now why did you send them away?"

Thomas Light rolled his eyes. _"You have the gall to ask me that? Idiot."_ He mumbled in Japanese. Rick, by no means a linguist, squinted to decipher the fast paced message.

"All right, I caught the baka…So you just insulted me, right?"

_"Hai."_ Tom smiled, patting his longtime friend on the shoulder. "But only because I care about you."

"Well, if you care about my well being so much, then help me find a place to sit down for a while." Rick hiccupped. "The soda's helping, but I'm still not feeling the greatest."

"This, I can do." The doctor of language and communications readily agreed to. A quick glance around revealed a nearby set of food booths and tables, and letting Rick lean on his arm, he maneuvered them towards their brief rest.

Of the two, Light was content to merely relax and enjoy the company of his old friend. Tensions were building at work, what with the Contest's deadline fast approaching. He would be lying if he said that it wasn't frustrating to work with an intelligent, beautiful, and compassionate woman who he couldn't have…as a gentleman, he respected her own feelings. It felt good to get away from all that, and to be around people with who he could relax.

It may have been a wasteful visit, and an expensive one, but Tom was thankful nonetheless. If only for today, he could push the thoughts of the future away and exist in the present, like everyone else.

Networks and the Contest…Within them were all his aspirations and dreams. But they were not the things through which he lived.

"Tom? Hey, Tom, are you listening to me?"

"Hnn?" The scientist murmured, looking across the table to his friend. "Oh, sorry. Dozed off for a minute."

"Worried about things at work?"

"Well, I'm trying not to, for a change." Tom smiled back. "I don't want to waste your visit.

Rick lifted up his cup of carbonated soda. "Amen to that. But I gotta tell ya, Tom, from what I saw, you're very much the man with a plan. Are you going to use that Network idea for the Contest coming up?"

"That's the idea." Thomas Light smiled. "I've been fiddling with the code, but it's still going to take me a while. The prototype of the Network's structure, I've labeled "Alpha…" However, until I finish up the underlying components, there's no sense in putting the full program on activation."

"Hold up." Rick interrupted, setting his cup down. "Run that by me again, in stupid white boy talk?"

"The idea of the Network is a new kind of internet; one where everyone, regardless of their language or nationality, will be able to interact and work and talk with others in real time. All right?"

"You've kept me so far. Keep going."

"Well, the program which does THAT I called the Alpha Network, or Alpha for short. But Alpha can't run unless the language matrix is finished; that's the thing which translates different languages into a universal code and flies around, to be re-encoded into another language on the other end."

"You're losing me again…"

"It's simple." Tom continued, eager now. "Say you speak English, but you want to talk about economics with somebody who's from Hanoi. Obviously, they'll speak Vietnamese."

"Riiight…"

"Well, the language matrix would take your English, break it down into code, send it flying across the 'Net, and have it pop out on the other side, where it would be turned into Vietnamese…And vice versa."

"So you're telling me…You've actually been working on making a universal translator?"

"All Star Trek references aside…" Tom began with a steady murmur, "Yes. The internet was made for communication. To share ideas."

"And porn."

"Shut up, Rick. I'm trying to make a point here." Tom chided his friend. Rick, who obviously was in better health by the color in his cheeks, smiled and waved him off. "The internet can't do that. Hell, I haven't seen a decent program in my LIFE that could do that. Well, maybe they could handle one or two languages, but the thing Vanessa and I are working on could convert them all. EVERY language!"

Rick blinked. The magnitude of it was certainly something he was used to Light fantasizing about…but to come here, and find that the longtime dreamer was turning his wild ideas into slowly blossoming realities was a shock. All of a sudden, he realized why his old friend Tom spent all those years becoming a polyglot…

Thomas Light hadn't done it to earn scandalous amounts of money. He had done it with the idea of this…all along, perhaps.

"That's a lot to do…" He admitted, when he could speak again. "How close are you?"

"The Network prototype is still another two months away from being completed…but the language matrix should be done in time for the Contest. It won't have every language, but I'm confident that we can get eight or nine programmed in that amount of time."

"That's only because you're a nut for languages to begin with." Rick grinned. "Hell, I don't think there's another person on this green earth who could do what you're suggesting. Hell, I'm not even sure if you can do it."

"You're right." Thomas agreed, surprising his friend. "Alone, I couldn't do it. But I'm not alone anymore. I have Vanessa…and as long as she's around, I feel like we can accomplish anything."

Rick sipped the last of his soda, stared at the cup forlornly, then set it aside. He folded his arms and leaned forward. "You love her, don't ya?"

Tom almost laughed. "You came all this way to ask me that?"

Rick smiled. "Well? Yes or no, Mister Linguist."

Tom's smile slackened, but stayed on. If anything, it only went quiet and pensive. "She's a very special woman."

"Well, that would be a yes, then." Rick huffed. "But I can see why. She's drop dead beautiful, there's no hiding that. On top of having a great body and a face you could spend hours looking at…"

"Careful, Rick." Tom cautioned his friend, for more than the fact that a few other people passing around them were giving them curious and interested looks. "I don't think your fiancée would appreciate that sort of talk."

"Relax, would you?" Rick laughed softly. "I'm not married yet, and besides, there's an old saying that goes, "Look, but don't touch." And I'm the only objective witness at this table to boot."

"Fair enough." Tom admitted, after a brief hesitation. "But was there a point to all this?"

"She's brilliant, Tom." Rick continued, on a roll once more. "She has to be, if she works at the National Institute. Lisa and I'd talked about you before, and we figured out that even though you get along great with us, and with most other people, you needed somebody who was just as smart as you."

"I don't know whether to feel offended or pleased." Tom remarked. A while later, another thought crossed his mind. "Hold on." He began, narrowing his eyes to slits. "This surprise visit…You didn't just come here to try and set me up with Vanessa, did you?"

Rick put on a very large (And very much feigned) look of innocence. "Why, Tom, I'm surprised at you. How could you suspect your oldest and dearest friend of chicanery?"

"You're not my oldest friend, for one." Tom snapped back. "And secondly, I know you well enough to tell when you're lying."

"So this is what it's going to be like when I'm married." Rick sighed. "All this suspicion. But as long as we're on the subject, why _haven't_ you asked her out yet?"

Thomas Light managed a frown to that. He started to rise and walk off, and Rick, abandoning his empty soda container, followed.

"I've just gotten her to a point where she respects me. I'm not about to screw that up by becoming overly ambitious."

What joy Tom had worn only minutes before was long gone, and a quiet weariness born from experience, rather than age, had taken its place. "Besides…She doesn't feel that way about me, Rick."

"But…Tom, you love her!" His friend reached for straws, surprised and somewhat shocked that the man who had pledged to take the world by storm only minutes ago was retreating into quiet defeat.

"She knows that, yes." Tom agreed calmly. He reached into the inner pocket of his black bomber's jacket and pulled out his sunglasses. Slipping them over his eyes, Thomas Light once again assumed the mantle of distanced euphoria that suspended him above terrestrial concerns.

"But if you love her, and you want her, why don't you do something about it?!" Rick insisted. "Why won't you take the chance?"

Pausing to contemplate, Light tilted his head up and stared into the peerless blue sky above. He smiled and gave his head a shake, settling the debate, every argument, with that one gesture.

"Because I care for her too much."

Considering the matter closed, Dr. Light walked on through the carnival.

Confused, but still loyal, Rick Williamson followed.

* * *

At the edge of the carnival was one of Redmond's parks; this one was well favored by a few flocks of Canadian Geese, who had opted to live within U.S. borders. With all the other flashing lights and laughing people about, it provided a much needed escape for the two women. Vanessa had wanted to escape the noise. Lisa, as the tourist, was content to follow her peer.

They leaned over the rail of a picturesque stone bridge spanning a deep stream that ran between the park's ponds, watching the geese beneath them congregate around pieces of bread from the two dollar bag they'd bought from an old woman. Vanessa held onto it, leaning her weight on her right arm and dangling the bread sack between them.

"So…You and Rick are engaged, then?" Vanessa asked, moving away from the idle chatter into a conversation with more substance.

Lisa smiled and reached for another piece of crust. "He asked me a month before graduation. Four years ago, I never would have thought I'd agree to it, though. But he's changed a lot from the idiot he was back then."

"And that little display with the funnel cake back there…?"

Lisa winced briefly and pushed back her hair. "He still manages to do idiotic things, though."

"Why did you fall for a lummox like him?" Vanessa realized her error and hastily corrected herself. "Well, what I mean to say is…"

Lisa laughed and tossed down the bread crust. One of the geese swam for it, gulping it up quickly and honking to the rest of its flight. "It's all right. He is a lummox, I don't mind you saying that." She ducked her head a little lower and rested it on both of her arms. "I still love him, though. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't."

"What still surprises me is that you and Rick are friends with Thomas. I mean, given his career path, how did you meet him?"

"Chance, really." The younger woman remarked, gaining a distant look. "It was early in our first semester; Rick lived in the same building as me, and since we were both new, we didn't know many people. I thought Rick was a dingus, but he was a harmless dingus, so we stuck with each other. The cafeteria was full that afternoon. Every table was full…except for one off in the back corner by the window. And there was Tom." Lisa smiled as she delved back into the memory. "He…He was eating this salad and a plate of curried chicken, and he had this faint smile on his face. Usually somebody that ate by themselves would be defensive…posturing themselves so others wouldn't get near. But this older guy, who we thought had to be a senior, saw us coming, smiled as if we were his dearest friends in the world, and told us to grab a chair."

Lisa waved her front fingers out. "He told us that his name was Thomas Light, and that he was a student in the language department. We didn't know it at the time, but Tom was their star pupil; he'd made it his purpose in life to master a new language every half a semester. When we found out about it and confronted him, he just shrugged it off. 'Everybody needed a hobby,' was what he said."

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "But that means…he was mastering a language every eight weeks!"

"Yeah, it sounds impossible, I know." Lisa readily agreed. She picked herself up and reached for the bread sack, taking out a few more pieces. "And if it was anybody else but Tom, I never would have believed it. But sure enough, he'd be struggling with the rudiments of Latin at the beginning of the semester, and by midterms he was reading Roman histories in the original script. It got a little unsettling…but Light never really showed off." The young woman considered her choices for a moment before continuing. "He never tried to make us feel stupid. He never used that brain of his to showboat. Hell, there were dozens of opportunities he could have taken on that campus to blow us all away. Mock game shows, trivias, you name it. But every time one of us brought it up, he just smiled and shrugged it off. It frustrated us at first…but then, I realized why he didn't go around impressing the Hell out of everyone."

Vanessa found the tale heartwarming, and more importantly, enlightening. She leaned on the railing of the bridge and stared at the young woman who was one of her partner's oldest and dearest friends, and waited for her to continue.

"Tom…He wants to help people. He's got all these ideas in his head about how he's going to make life easier. He's smarter than most people could ever hope to be, but he's humble about it; he only acts as intelligent as he needs to, and he's gracious to a fault."

"You make him out to sound like the second coming of Jesus Christ." Vanessa joked.

Lisa blushed a bit. "I don't mean to. He has his share of problems…it's just that his merits have always outweighed them. Any more, it's tough to find a hardworking, intelligent man who genuinely cares and has that much love to give."

"So why didn't you go after Thomas then, instead of Rick?"

Woman to woman, Lisa's smile was more open and honest than any man would have been able to see. "Because I didn't love him like that. And he didn't love me."

The younger woman blinked twice, then threw out the handful of bread bits. The geese honked wildly and dove for the snack. "He loves you, you know."

The comment came so out of the blue that Vanessa actually started, rising up briefly. "What?" Lisa smiled, waiting for Vanessa to say something more than a question. "How do you know that? Did he tell you that?"

"No." Lisa answered, shaking her head. "But I could just tell. He was different whenever he talked about you."

"Different how?"

"Quieter. Happier somehow. At peace with the world. Take your pick." Lisa reached for the bread sack, and Vanessa wordlessly handed over the entire thing.

The engineer blinked several times, shaking her head. She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't believe it. "I…I knew when we first met, he was interested…but I thought he'd gotten over it."

Lisa half snorted as she chuckled. "Something I've found is that men really don't "Get over" women they fall for. They can be civil. They can even work together. But that doesn't stop them from thinking about you. Maybe that's one of the reasons I finally said yes to Rick. I knew if I didn't, he'd just keep coming back time and time again until I married somebody else…and that way, at least I could keep an eye on him."

"And you love him?"

"Didn't always." Lisa joked. "But Rick finds ways to redeem himself every week or so…and those moments make the rest worth it." She chucked out a few more crusts of bread, and the geese finally stopped honking as they realized that as long as they waited, there would be a constant supply of food.

"But why would he fall in love with me?"

"Something you said? Something you did?" Lisa mused. She shook her head. "No. My fiancée…He got a call from Tom the first night after he joined the Institute. He mentioned you, apparently. And from what Rick told me, it was something along the lines of, "I would do anything to see her smile."

At last, it all came together in Vanessa's mind.

All this time…Light had been trying to make her happy. Never once propositioning her. Never once being anything more than a friend, even though he wished for something more.

_Tom…He wants to help people._

"Vanessa?" Lisa waved a hand in front of the older woman's face. "Earth to Vanessa. You there?"

"Hah?" The engineer shook out her long blond tresses. "I…I never knew. I mean, he acts so strong and confident all the time. Outside of the first day we met, he never once expressed anything like what you're saying."

"That's how he is." Lisa handed Vanessa a handful of bread crusts and took another for herself. "Tom always acts like he's strong and confident. Behind closed doors, though, he's very fragile."

She paused for a moment, as she braced herself for the painful memory. "His parents are dead, you know."

Vanessa's eyes widened. "I never knew that."

"No, chances are he never told you. It's his pain, and he doesn't go around burdening other people with it." Lisa Marine went on. "They died on Valentine's Day three years ago. They were on their way to a restaurant when…" Lisa's jaw tightened. "Drunk driver."

"Oh God."

"Tom nearly quit College after that. He was an only child, and he felt lost. It was only because Rick was there, and I was there, that he finally came to grips with it…and decided that the best way to honor their memory was to finish what he'd started. So three years later, when we all walked across the stage, he earned his Doctorate, and became the man you know now."

Lisa sighed and threw out her handful of bread. "He can't face things alone. He needs friends…but he never learned how to ask." The young woman turned to Vanessa again, nodding at her. "He nearly quit here too, I heard…"

"…Because he felt alone." Vanessa finished. "I remember that. He was packing up his stuff when I finally decided to join his department. It stopped him…put him into full reverse."

"You saved him then. Just like we saved him long ago."

Vanessa stared down at her handful of bread crusts and threw it out over the stream full of geese. "But I don't love him."

"I wasn't asking you to." Lisa replied. "I'm just telling you…he thinks the world of you. And you're better off in this life having him as a friend, if nothing else."

As afterthought, the younger woman emptied out the rest of the bread sack for the geese below. "And even though he'll never tell you, because he doesn't want to scare you off or seem a boor…He truly does love you."

There was something charmingly old world in that sense of romanticism; An unexpressed love, even as he continued to serve her and do his best to make her life better.

"I don't know if I can give it back to him." Vanessa replied. "As flattering as it is…"

"Then be what you've always been. A friend." Lisa crumpled up the bag and tucked the waste in her purse. "It's always the best place to start. And Vanessa?"

"Yes?"

"I'd very much like it if you'd be my friend as well." The young woman pushed her hair back. "Because I _can_ ask."

Vanessa Tercel laughed a little at that, and the shine returned to her emerald eyes. "I hope you have nighttime minutes, then. I can talk when I want to."

"I'll look forward to the bill."

Soon, they would have to get back to the others at the carnival. For the moment, though, the two women were content to stare over the stream of geese and enjoy their peaceful moment.

Their thoughts turned to the man called Doctor Light…

And neither could think of a terrible memory.

* * *

_The Carnival_

_Redmond, Washington_

_6:25 P.M. _

The last thing that Rick and Lisa wanted to do was to ride the Ferris Wheel. A time honored staple of every amusement park and traveling fair, the French ride was almost one hundred and fifty years old…and still as much of a draw as it had ever been.

"Look at how big it is!" Lisa marveled. Traveling carnivals had certainly gotten more impressive since she'd been a little girl, and the massive wheel had to easily be a hundred feet high. "You could see the entire city from the top!" She whirled on her three companions. "Oh, this is going to be the perfect end to a perfect day!"

Rick seemed conducive to the idea, but Light and Vanessa shared a nervous glance. Ferris wheels had other connotations which weren't lost on either scientist.

"Well, I don't know…" Vanessa began slowly.

"I mean, we could just wait down here for you and Rick…" Tom added soon after.

Lisa Marine could be many things, from demure to outright incensed. Today, she chose the middling path; stubborn insistence. "The both of you are going to ride on this thing and you're going to enjoy it. You hear?" Rick's wide eyes said it all to them; that was the end of the discussion.

As Tom Light and Vanessa Tercel were led by Lisa and Rick through the line toward the ride, the doctor couldn't resist a passing comment. "Why do I feel like we're being set up here?"

"I feel like we're being marched to a prison camp myself." Vanessa added dryly.

"Oh, come on now." Tom protested, quick to react. "It's not quite that bad."

She gave him a look, and Tom winced. "Well…maybe close to it. But come on. They're only here for today. The least we can do is give them this."

Vanessa still glared at him. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." Light swore. "I'll go out and buy you five pounds of that really expensive French vanilla coffee blend you like so much!"

Her frown softened. "But…that'll run you close to eighty dollars."

"Please." Tom begged. "You can even take tomorrow off."

Finally, she rolled her eyes. "We can't afford to let me take tomorrow off, Thomas. But for their sake…all right. I'll ride the damned thing." She held up a finger to stifle his joyous outburst. "But if you get any funny ideas…"

Tom huffed at that, and flipped down his sunglasses. "Ridiculous. I am a perfect gentleman, _mademoiselle._"

With Rick and Lisa pushing them from behind, they climbed into one of the two-seater capsules and began their ascent up. Tom's friends followed behind them in the next carriage.

Neither Tom nor Vanessa said anything for the first part of the ride; She, because she could think of nothing to say, and he because he didn't feel that it was appropriate to make the opening comment. In spite of what would otherwise be considered a very romantic gesture, the close partners and friends became nervous and fidgety. How much better it would be, Tom bemoaned, if they were back in the laboratory and acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened!

Yet Rick and Lisa _had_ come, and they _were_ there at the carnival…riding together on the wheel as it took them up and up, swinging ever so slightly.

Behind his sunglasses, Thomas Light had the benefit of being able to sneak sideways glances without being noticed. He used that ploy to great success, realizing that for as awkward as he felt, Vanessa seemed to be fighting with some inner conflict.

_Probably whether or not to say something_, he thought to himself.

Then they hit the top, after countless starts and stops…and all of Redmond lay out before them.

"…It's nice up here."

Finally, Tom lifted his sunglasses up into his hair and turned about to look at her head on. The engineer was staring at the horizon of their pacific city, with a bemused look on her face.

"Yeah." Tom answered. "Yeah, I suppose it is. At least you feel like you can think up here."

Vanessa nodded, drawing her arms around herself. "While you were with Rick…Lisa told me some things."

"Oh?"

"She said…your parents were dead."

"Oh." There was no sound of sadness or injury; just acceptance. The nonchalance was surprising to her. "Yes, they are. For three years now."

"You never told me about your family before."

"I didn't think it was that important, myself." The enigmatic linguist added. "They're dead. Moping about it wouldn't solve anything."

"Are you telling me that you don't think about them at all?" She countered, surprised.

"No, I think about them a lot." Tom argued. "My mother was the one who encouraged me to follow up on my desire to learn languages. My father…well, he was kind of like you are. He said there had to be a point to it all; you couldn't do something for its own sake."

"That's funny. Usually men compare other women to their mothers." She joked.

Tom raised an eyebrow, and put on one of his trademark grins. "I thought we'd established I wasn't like other men."

"Lisa said that too."

Tom crossed his arms and stared out over the city. They were still suspended at the top; the ride operators must have been having trouble loading on the next carriage. "Did Lisa tell you my entire life story or something?"

"No. And I wouldn't have asked her to." His associate remarked candidly. "I never really thought about it before, but it would be far better to hear it from you."

"Hmm." He harrumphed, flipping his glasses back down to hide his azure eyes from the descending rays of the early evening sun. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller, Vanessa."

"I didn't say you had to do it now. Just…sometime, when you feel ready, would you be willing to try?"

"And I'll get yours, then?"

"We'll call it a deal. A life story for a life story. Fair enough, Thomas?"

The doctor considered it briefly, then nodded. "_D'accord."_ He waited for her confused blink and smiled. "Deal. I should have used the Russian equivalent, just to keep you sharp on your linguistics lessons."

"Aah, you were probably thinking about something else anyhow." Vanessa shrugged off the makeshift apology. "As smart as you are, you were probably running the code for three more language programs in the back of your head."

Vanessa swore that Dr. Light actually blushed at that. "Just two, actually. How did you know?"

"You know what they say. Spend enough time with someone, you begin to understand their thoughts."

"Aah. So what am I thinking about now?"

Vanessa leaned forward a bit, just enough to peer over the hand rail without tilting their carriage. "If it's anything like my thoughts…You're worried about the Network project. The Contest is almost on top of us."

"Two for two." Tom muttered under his breath. "I was, actually. But not as much as you might think. I believe in the ideas behind it. And I believe that we can get the language matrix done in time."

"So what are you worried about?"

"People." Thomas Light announced, gaining a thoughtful look that his sunglasses only enhanced. "It doesn't matter how good the project we make is. If the people in charge of the Contest don't like it, we won't get the full funding we need to make the Network happen."

"An optimist like you? Worried?"

"I got into languages and cultures to understand others." He went on, a voice of reason. "But along the way, I discovered a thing or two about human nature in the process. One of the biggest lessons I learned was that people don't always understand what they need. And telling them what they 'need' only causes problems. Be it religious, social, or political in nature…problems."

"Then what makes you think they'll go for this Network we're making?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'm gambling on it."

"Do you think that you can change the world with this? Solve all its problems?"

He smiled again, a knowledgeable and quiet expression of hopeful peace. "I don't think I'll change the world…but it would be a start. That's what keeps me going."

Vanessa said nothing for the longest time. The ride began to descend along the other side of the wheel, and they were nearly halfway down when she spoke again.

"It keeps me going, too."

The two shared a nod of agreement, then watched Redmond dip down away from their eyes. They were coming back to earth.

In the cart behind the two members of the Institute, Lisa cuddled up next to Rick, resting her head in between his shoulder and his head. Their hands interlocked, she smiled and breathed in his dusky scent.

"They look good together, don't they?"

"Yeah." Rick agreed quietly. "Do you think we did the right thing?"

"We didn't do _anything_." She reminded him coyly. "We just told her a little bit about him…and finally got a look at her."

"Do you think that she'll…You know…go for him?"

"I honestly don't know." Lisa squeezed his hand and pulled away, to stare into his eyes. "If it's going to happen, it's going to happen on its own. All we've done is make it easier."

Rick's nose wrinkled up as he grinned. "I'm marrying the smart one." He sing-songed merrily.

"And I'm marrying the dumb one…but I love you anyways." She countered. Rick laughed at the joke and pulled her in for a deep kiss.

The rest of the ride down was very memorable indeed.

* * *

_Vanessa Tercel's Apartment_

_June 6__th__, 2039 C.E._

_8:48 P.M._

They'd gone with Rick and Lisa to a dinner on Rick's tab; it had been a more memorable affair than lunch, and they'd even found occasion to joke about the President of their old College, who was funny even after they'd graduated. Afterwards, the two happily engaged people said their goodbyes and went on their way for their hotel, making the excuse that it had been a very long day and they wanted to sleep for the trip back tomorrow.

Vanessa, who could be as insightful with people as Light was with languages, saw the way that their hands brushed over one another's, and the furtive glances they tossed. Sleep was the farthest thing from their minds.

So they'd waved goodbye as they walked out of the restaurant, with Dr. Thomas Light hugging the both of them tight, and wishing them safe journey. In a day's time, Vanessa realized she'd learned more about her friend and partner than she had in a week.

Perhaps it was because of that. Maybe it was that she simply didn't want to return back to the Institute, after such a rare day. Or it might have been something else altogether. Whatever it was, when Dr. Light offered to drive her back to the Institute parking lot so she could get to her car, Vanessa did something entirely unexpected and out of character.

She smiled, shook her head no, and walked for his motorcycle. "Take me home, Tom."

She was quiet on the ride back, in spite of the fact that the helmets Light kept on his bike were equipped with two-way radios. He shrugged it off, assuming that she simply wanted time to think about things. He noticed, however, that she seemed to be more forward in how she rode; instead of merely keeping her hands on his shoulders, she actually wrapped her arms around his midsection halfway through the ride. It was the more secure way to ride…but it didn't stop him from wondering just what exactly had happened over the course of their whirlwind day that would bring about such a change.

After all of that, he found himself parked in front of the apartment building that Vanessa called home. Unlike his own place, which was so far on the outskirts of Redmond that it didn't even have a landline, hers was in the heart of the downtown sprawl. At least it was in a good neighborhood, he rationalized.

Vanessa took off the second bike helmet and shook her long golden tresses out. Light caught himself staring, and quickly looked away. He accepted the helmet back wordlessly.

"Tomorrow, we're going to have to work twice as hard. You'll have to pick me up, of course." Vanessa Tercel began, very much at peace with her surroundings. She even seemed at peace with her thoughts, to his surprise. "We've got a lot of ground to cover before the translation matrix on the Alpha Network will be ready to show off."

"I've never been one to be afraid of work." Light boasted. He turned up the collar of his jacket and flashed a cocky grin. "Not ever. We'll get it done."

"We only have nine days. The Contest happens on the 15th." She went on cautiously. "I hope you're right."

"I don't believe in failure. I do believe in the Network. And I believe in us." Light said it all without thinking, and only afterwards, did he realize how that last part could be interpreted. "That is, I…"

"I know what you meant, Thomas. Relax." Vanessa waved off the apology. "It'll be easier when the Contest is done with, but the pressure starts to get to us all beforehand. Today…I suppose you might say, we needed today."

Light smiled. "Well, it wasn't my idea, but I'll let Lisa and Rick know that you were grateful."

"I'll call them myself later." Vanessa answered, holding up her cellular phone. "Lisa and I added each other to our friends list."

"You did?" Light exclaimed, raising both eyebrows. "You two must have hit it off."

Vanessa tucked the phone away and folded her arms in front of her. Something new shone in her emerald eyes when she looked at him…and Light found it more than slightly unsettling. "I had a good time today, Thomas. Sometime after this Contest is over, we'll have to go on another date."

Light's eyes went wider still. "D…Date? Vanessa, I wasn't…I mean, that wasn't…"

Before he could say another word, she leaned in and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. True to form, Light promptly shut up…no small miracle for a man who could speak fifteen languages fluently.

"You're cute when you pretend to be stupid." She smiled, giving him one last look for posterity. "Good night, Tom."

She walked up to the door, waved her key fob across the receiver, and strolled in. At the last moment, Dr. Light managed to offer a wave and utter a strangled farewell in reply.

Then she was gone.

Dazed, and with a larger world in front of him, Light wobbled back to his motorcycle, sat down, and started the engine.

He didn't reach for his helmet.

Smiling at first, then beaming, then grinning and laughing, he gunned the finely tuned engine of his Suzuki motorcycle and flew down the streets. He sang as he went…

And for a moment, thought that the world was singing with him.


	5. The Metal Road

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Four: The Metal Road**

"_I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence; Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."_

**-Robert Frost**

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Redmond, Washington_

_June 15__th__, 2039 C.E. (Common Era)_

_7:25 A.M._

A tense air hung over the thirty year old building. With the sun still young in the eastern sky, it was quiet and cold; almost as a tomb, hushed in deathly reverence.

There were many cars in the parking lot already, and more would soon come. But none of the usual noises, the customary bustle bothered its halls. Nobody was out. Nobody was fraternizing. On this day…The 15th of June…

The Institute became something else.

It became a showcase with everyone's future on the line.

In his office, Director Randall Simdorn adjusted his glasses and flashed through the latest world news, fretting about the state of affairs to keep his mind off what was to come.

In his department, Dr. Albert William Wily twirled his thick and comical black mustache, smiling as a warrior triumphant while his team went over the final performance checklists for the convertible mechanoid they'd finished less than two weeks before.

And out in the parking lot, a new disturbance calmly rolled in. Two people rode in on a brilliant blue and red Suzuki brand motorcycle; somewhere between crotch rocket and road hog, with sleek and graceful streamlined body and room for two besides.

It pulled into one of the farther lots out, for its driver preferred the walk in. It gave him time to think, after all, and there was much to be thought about today. The driver and his passenger climbed off of the motorbike as the engine throttled down, and on afterthought, the passenger nudged the kickstand into place.

Rider's gloves and their helmets came off next, and Dr. Thomas Xavier Light and his assistant, Vanessa Tercel, stared at the building with focused intent. Their future waited inside.

Light took their helmets and stowed them into the bike's compartment, tightening his black bomber's jacket afterwards, and reaching for his sunglasses. "Any advice?"

"They smell fear. Use deodorant." Light's double take prompted Vanessa to brush back her blond hair, which she'd plaited for the day's business. "A joke, Tom."

"Stop scaring me like that." He whined.

"Fine, I'll be serious then." She cracked her knuckles and took in a long breath. "Today, you'll barely recognize anyone else. You're going to see a level of competition that will make you question whether or not these are people that you want to be around. At times, they'll even seem cutthroat; some may even ignore you, not even give you the time of day."

"Thank goodness this only happens once a year."

"And don't forget why you're here, too." She went on, putting a little brimstone into her speech. "You've been stuck on this Network idea for years. You've been obsessed with it since your first day here. But if you don't impress the _HELL_ out of the Budget Subcommittee representatives, you may as well write it all off. You may have small projects throughout, but for something as massive as the Network…you've got one shot. If we don't pull out the win, you won't get the funding and the support to make it reality."

His face darkened, and he slipped his dark black sunglasses over his eyes. "Then let's make it count. It's all been building up to this. Time to finish the job."

"For the future?" Vanessa suggested, as they started across the painted blacktop.

Behind his sunglasses, Dr. Light smiled and said nothing.

His work could speak for itself.

* * *

_Cairo, Egypt_

_An undisclosed location_

_5:30 P.M._

Ibis al-Hamal considered himself to be a true follower of the Prophet, and a warrior in the name of the One Most High. He was older than most, and could recall a time when his forefathers raged against the Western Devils. Of course, those days were long past now, for the most part. A lull had come over his people; a dangerous precedent for those who preached vigilance. Complacency bred a garden for the snakes of evil to live in.

Already in his forties, Hamal had the rugged pallor and leathery skin of a man who had spent too much time underneath the desert sun. That much was true; as leader of the Egyptian sect called the "Prophet's Wings," he was forced to live under the radar. The Infidels of course wanted him dead; he had planned a dozen strikes on European soil in his days. More threatening to him was his own people; either those who wished him dead for their own rise to power, or those who opposed his vision.

So here he found himself, once again in a secluded place, hidden away from prying eyes. He drank his tea, gave thanks to Allah, and continued to reflect on what needed to be done. The building he was staying at was surrounded by his own personal guards, as fervently loyal as any man could possibly be to another.

Rubbing his thick dark beard, Hamal thought that he had truly been blessed with a good life.

And then, as if the Prophet Himself was testing him, Hamal's quaint little world was turned upside down.

A loud explosion rocked the outer doors, and then rapid shouts in Arabic and gunfire erupted. Hamal jerked up from his table, reaching for his automatic rifle, leaning on the table's edge.

A dart, likely filled with tranquilizer, slammed hard into the wood only inches from Hamal's hand. The guerilla warrior froze his arm, and slowly turned his head up.

Standing in the doorway of his private room, a man in full composite body armor, save for his head, nodded. The tranquilizer gun he kept up in the air. He had thick black hair and gray eyes, and a consummate smile to accompany his own sun-drenched skin.

"The peace of Allah be with you, brother Hamal." The man nodded. "I apologize for the intrusion…but we have business, you and I."

Hamal snorted and slowly sat back down. At no point did he reach for his rifle. "What business would I have for a man who attacks before even giving the courtesy of his name?"

The noises from outside in the rest of the house had stopped, and now, two soldiers dressed in plainclothes and masks came in after the man. Hamal frowned; the first man seemed Turkish, with an accent that seemed far out of place. With his men standing behind him, their leader (For surely, only one as bold as their commander would come without a mask!) walked over to the table and sat down opposite of Hamal. He took Hamal's rifle and moved it behind him in the same instant. "No sense tempting fate." The man explained, only half-apologetically. "As for my business…I am in merchandise. I suspect you, as a well-connected member of the Prophet's Wings, might be in need of something."

Hamal's eyes narrowed; he did not like this man. He did not like him one bit. The man knew too much. He would have to purge his staff after this. "I do not deal with men such as you…who have no loyalty to the cause."

The man considered that for only a moment before moving on. "I am known as X, in many circles. You have heard of that name, yes?"

Though Hamal did not show it, he was surprised to find himself staring at the man who was even more secretive than he was. He offered a begrudging nod.

"Then you must have by now, also heard of the work that I have done with our Turkish brothers…supplying them shipment after shipment of advanced weapons, which have been used in the fight against the nonbelievers."

"I have heard of a Mr. X, yes." Hamal replied. "I have also heard that name uttered in the shadows of every corner of the world. You sell material to countless groups. You could very well work for the infidels I fight against. I do not deal with allies of the western devils."

Mr. X let off a characteristic, disarming smile. "Now, you're a businessman, Mr. Hamal. So am I. You deal in death; I work with weapons and information. Our livelihoods…depend on one another." He waved his gun about. "If I had come to harm you, I would have done it by now. Besides…If you hadn't noticed, we're only shooting tranqs. Your men will wake up in two hours or so…groggy, but perfectly all right."

Ibis al-Hamal stroked his beard exactly twice, looking down to the dart embedded in his wooden table. "Is that to be the extent of your courtesy?"

"Not quite."

A metallic cylinder with a clear central compartment clattered onto the table and rolled to a stop against the embedded dart. Ibis al-Hamal frowned and looked closer…There was a cigar-shaped piece of metal suspended in a liquid bath. It seemed to hover in place, unfazed by the movement.

"I don't presume to think that you're entirely witless about that object…but I don't think you've seen this material before."

Hamal reached a hand for the container, then pulled it back before he touched it, as if it had burned him. "Uranium?" He asked, glancing up with a fearful gaze.

Mr. X actually laughed. "Enriched thorium. A little easier to obtain, if not difficult to produce…and it draws far less attention than more conventional nuclear materials. It won't burn the atmosphere off of the planet, but there's enough in that container to vaporize a two mile radius. Don't worry, it's quite safe to handle; it has to remain inside that bath to prevent early decay."

"How did you…"

"I told you before, Mr. Hamal. I am a businessman. I merely supply what my customers demand." The weapons dealer crossed his arms. "Naturally, that little trinket will do you no good without the rest of the parts for a bomb…and don't think about buying outside, the equipment is too specialized for your normal black market ties. The material I have provided free of charge. The rest…?" He put his gun away and shrugged his shoulders. "As they say in the west, Mr. Hamal, the ball is in your court."

Hamal, being nobody's fool, tucked the material inside his robes. "I will have to have my own people look at it, of course."

"Of course."

"But…if it is indeed as you have said…"

Mr. X pulled out a business card, printed with his logo on one side, and a number on the other. "This connects to my satellite line. Quite untraceable, quite secure. When you wish to do business, let me know. We look forward to a long, healthy relationship."

"God willing." Ibis al-Hamal murmured.

_"Inshallah." _Mr. X answered in perfect Arabic, repeating the brief prayer. He rose up, bowed briefly, and turned for the door. His men followed, leaving behind a very befuddled, but alive, Hamal. The leader of the Prophet's Wings watched them leave, then poured himself some more tea. Until his men woke back up, there was very little to be done, outside of wait…

And think.

Mr. X and his men piled inside an unmarked and badly rusted van, taking off at a sluggish pace. What was curious, however, was that the leader of the international smuggler's cartel was driving. He shook his head as they pulled out of the alley and onto the main drag, joining the mess of camels, bicycles, and scooters.

"I don't understand, sir. Why did you give him a batch of Thorium, of all things? Why not something less…destructive?"

One of the masked gunmen accompanying him pulled his gloves off…revealing Mediterranean bronzed skin, and with the removal of his mask, a swarthy Grecian complexion as well.

The real Mr. X smiled and brushed out his hair, considering the latest flunky to take his place on a business trip. Considering that nobody saw his real features, the deception was easy to carry out. And nobody in his line of business ever bothered to compare notes to see if Mr. X was skinny as one person might say, or hefty, like others would.

Oliver Xanthos, ever the schemer, hid himself in plain sight. It was a tactic which had served him well, if only for paranoia's sake. When he returned home, he would have to remove his colored contacts and the synthetic mask over his face…For now, the black fabric that had covered his false face was enough.

"First rule of business, friend: Give the customer what they want. Ibis al-Hamal is a man in need of destruction on a vast scale; he lives for the shock that comes with utter annihilation. And besides, terrorists have long proved that they can do substantial damage without WMDs. I'm simply making it easier."

"You simply forgot to mention that you're also supplying the same gadgetry and materials to Christian extremists in Southern Europe." Another of his henchmen added.

The real Mr. X smiled and ran his hand along the side of his tranquilizer gun, letting the lull of the van's grinding gears settle his already relaxed nerves. "Nobody ever accused me of being a patriot. And nobody ever will. Who am I to judge either side?"

His face gained a serious edge. "Now, then. Take us back to the outpost. We've other customers to deal with."

"Do you think that Mr. Hamal will call you, Mr. X?" One last question came.

The arms dealer didn't even need to think on the answer.

"I'll give him three days before he does. Good things come in threes, after all."

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Redmond, Washington_

_8:00 A.M._

Helicopters were a technology nearly a century old, ever since the day of the laughable gyrocopter. Even in the modern world, the antiquated propeller driven aircraft found its uses; for hospitals and site to site transports with space too limited for runways, they were still king.

Director Simdorn briefly recalled how the aeronautics department had mentioned in a memo that they would be experimenting next year with a new hoverprop technology which, if their estimates were correct, would render the old style rotors obsolete. That was far away from today, and from the _Patton_ class transport helicopter which _thump-thump-thump_ed its way town to the landing pad atop the Institute.

He shielded his face with a forearm from the buffeting wind and dust that the 'chopper kicked up and bided his time. Soon enough, the six hydraulic braces about the helicopter touched down and depressed with the weight, approximating the bend of a bird's legs to distribute the considerable tonnage. Not long after, the engine cut out and the rotors began to wind their way down to inactive status.

That was his cue. The Director of the Institute tucked his body down halfway and strolled out over the crushed gravel and shredded rubber of the roof towards the painted landing pad. He was glad that he'd chosen to go casual today with tan slacks and a Hawaiian shirt with the top two buttons undone; a tie flapping in the crosswind would not have been fun at all. Randall Simdorn allowed himself a brief smile as the side door of the helo slid open, and its occupants stumbled out.

The business suits and ties worn by the people of capitol hill were a far cry from comfortable, and definitely not conducive to helo rides. There was one woman, looking to be in her fifties, and two male senators; one barely past his thirties, and the other who looked to be older than Simdorn himself.

Simdorn managed a welcome over the dulling roar and escorted them out beyond the range of the slowing rotor blades. When they could all stand up, he took a better look at them and smiled, holding out his hand. "On behalf of…well, me, I suppose…Welcome to the Institute. I'm Director Randall Simdorn."

The woman glanced at him with more disdain than he'd felt in years. "I see that you've decided to skip the formalities. Is everyone on vacation here?"

Simdorn stifled his swallow. They were all new faces…and outside of the young buck in the crowd, sharks. A wrong comment, even one made out of casual conversation, might well land him in hot water. It would be better to take the safe route…at least until he had them figured out.

"Follow me, ma'am. Sirs." He walked them towards the rooftop entrance, all business. "So, who do I have the pleasure of addressing from the Budget Subcommittee?"

Wearing a blue business suit that was so cold, it could have frozen the arctic pack ice again, the woman with blond hair going only slightly gray reached for a pair of eyeglasses in her front breast pocket and slipped them on. Dark brown eyes glowered at him from behind that second wall of professionalism. "I am Senator Jessica Thompson from Virginia." She motioned to her two associates, the older gray-haired gentleman in a steam-pressed black suit suitable for funerals, and the younger brown-haired man looking remarkably out of place with only a pair of black khakis, buttondown shirt and U.S. flag-styled tie for his ensemble. "Senator Bill Graystone of Ohio, and our junior Senator, Walter Hastings."

Senator Hastings seemed friendlier than the other two, proffering a smile and a bob of his head. Graystone, who was as old and gray as his name implied, marched on gruffly without offering a word of thanks.

Already pale, Simdorn took up the rear of the entourage while Graystone and Thompson forged on ahead. Only Senator Hastings stuck around and offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. It was a long trip over, and it's been a busy session."

"If that's the case, how come you're not ripping my head off?" Simdorn grumbled.

"I could tell you I'm from Iowa, but that doesn't count for that much these days." Senator Hastings winked. "Where are you from, originally?"

"Maryland." Director Simdorn said. "I don't recognize any of you, though…Although I'll admit I don't keep pace with politics as well as I should."

"Thompson kept her seat, and I swung in with the midterm elections of '38."

"That still doesn't explain why you're so bright and chipper."

"I imagine the running joke is that I haven't been ruined yet." Hastings murmured. "Anyhow, I don't have any preconceived notions about this. They just decided to send me, why I don't know…There were others on the Committee who've done this before."

"Perhaps they thought it was time you learned what we were all about." The head of the Institute led him on. "So, what can you tell me about yourself and your…charming companions?"

"Senator Thompson and I are democrats. Graystone's become a nigh untouchable figurehead of the GOP, though…he's interminably tied to the military industrial complex."

"Well, I don't know if there are any projects that would catch his fancy, then." Simdorn exhaled. "This year's frontrunners are all rather civilian focused."

Hastings smiled and ventured forth. "Any you'd care to tell me about?"

Closing the door to the helipad behind them, Simdorn cackled a bit with anticipation. "Well, let me see…"

* * *

"One of the major problems facing both the United States, and the world at large, is food shortages."

The three senators listened attentively to the opening dramatics; every presentation had to come with its own show, after all. It was a natural part of showmanship, going back centuries and perfected in the twentieth. Of course, there were new variations which had happened since then, but the basis was the same. _Present problem. List solution. Explain solution. Demonstrate effectiveness. Recap solution and information for purchase._ As the saying went, if you could sell a juicer, you could sell anything.

Today, however, they were listening to Dr. Flora Jane, the head of the Agricultural Department. She'd quickly dispensed with the usual banter--Yes, she'd heard every joke about her name and profession, and no she didn't care to hear another one-- and moved on. She was in her mid-thirties; poised, confident, and with an award winning smile under brilliant red hair. Her white lab coat seemed only to heighten the grace she wore that day.

"Finding enough nitrogen-rich, arable land has always been a problem." She went on, twirling a pen in her free hand. "Since times of old, farmers have counteracted this problem with different types of nutrients, from manure and fertilizer to the anhydrous ammonia widely used until the Schleswig Bill passed, outlawing anhydrous because of its alternative uses in homemade explosives and methamphetamines. They've tried different types of soil reclamation procedures, from crop rotation to fallowing. None of that's solved the larger problem facing us today: The shortages."

Each and every other department that had a display set up nearby felt their faces darken at that. **The shortages. **Those two simple words, by themselves, so harmless, drew anybody's attention, and for good reason. Whether it was oil, water, or food, the shortages were never far from anybody's mind.

"Simply stated, existing farmland is no longer sufficient to meet the nutritional needs of the global population. Not even genetically bred bumper crops, built to grow where normal staples can't, can fill in all the shortfalls. To meet our needs, we have to _expand_ our agricultural acreage into new areas."

Dr. Jane stopped twirling her pen, and deftly tucked it behind her ear. "Of course, with the progressive urbanization of developed and developing countries into 'green space', this means that such land must be found elsewhere; in places where nobody expects anything to grow. Deserts, arid tundra, and other places where soil conditions are so poor that nobody ever bothered to examine them before. This was an impossibility, until the development of this project."

Beside her, the flatscreen display lit up, and presented an image of utter desert.

"This is the Mojave Desert in the southwestern United States. It was a clear front-running candidate for the purposes of our work. The goal was to produce a way to turn infertile soil into land suitable for enhancing annual yields." As she said this, she reached inside her lab coat and pulled out a strange metallic spheroid. "We call this the condensed nitrification accelerator. The stage name we've been tossing around in the department is "Soil bomb."

Not bothering to ask if it was all right, she hefted the device through the air towards the Senators. Graystone cringed, and Thompson let off a surprised squeak, but Hastings reached for it quickly and held it up in both hands. By all appearances, it appeared to be nothing more than a metallic softball, although one with curious hatches laid across its central axis, eight in all.

The display went on, flashing a living schematic of the device. "A soil bomb contains exactly three liters of a compressed, prototype substance we created eight months ago; We call it Nitrogen energy booster, or Nitren for short. Nontoxic, safe for the environment, and doesn't leave behind residue that can be washed away by excessive rainfall."

As she spoke, the image on the flatscreen went back to the desert, then dove into a cross-section of the poor desert soil. A section of ground was removed, and the demonstration showed a soil bomb being buried, then covered up again.

"The delivery system on the soil bomb is unique. When the signal is sent out, every one of the hatches slides open, and a macrofilament tubule is shot out, using the pressure of the compressed nitren within the device." True to form, the video simulation did exactly that.

"Every macrofilament tubule is punctuated with pressure-sensitive 'blow hatches'. When the tubules reach their maximum range of twenty meters, the pressurized nitren is released, and disperses equally through the eight extensions. It takes the nitren about thirty seconds to affix itself within the soil and begin the process, and once all the nitren's been expelled from the system, the tubules retract back into the soil bomb on their own. Then you just go back and dig the empty soil bombs back up to be recharged for another use. Each soil bomb can nitrify approximately 160 square meters, and they can all be reused."

Senator Bill Graystone cleared his throat and leaned forward on his toes ever so slightly. "An impressive presentation, Doctor. But a soil bomb? I wasn't aware we were at war with our farmland."

"The way I see it, Senator, better that the war be fought in a cornfield than in cities where food shortages can cause riots." Dr. Jane rebutted primly. If Graystone was impressed, or flustered, he didn't show it either way.

"I have a question, Dr. Jane." Senator Thompson chirped up, lifting her tablet pen from her digital assistant. "How is this…nitren different from any other sort of fertilizer? The system of delivery is unique, but why spend the money to develop a new fertilizer in mass quantities?"

"Nitren isn't a fertilizer, ma'am." One of Dr. Jane's associates announced, stepping up to support his superior. "It's based off of the molecular properties of nitrogen-fixing bacteria, only at a highly accelerated rate of speed. Nitren adds very little nitrogen and other nutrients by itself; what sets it apart is its secondary, and more important role."

Dr. Jane nodded. "My associate is correct. Nitren is a nitrogen-fixer; it literally stimulates the production of nitrogen and other nutrients and soil conditions necessary for growing staple crops like corn and wheat. Fertilizer is completely the wrong word; _Revitalizer_ would be far more appropriate. Within two minutes, the affixed nitren begins to break down into its base elements and disperse over the area. Within a day, counts for nitrogen, potassium, and phosphorus can jump from zero to average quality soil. Give it a week of working, and it can produce soil as nutrient rich and as black as the fabled Nebraska loam."

She motioned to the screen, where the image of the Mojave desert still waited, frozen. "We tested a prototype of the soil bomb in the Mojave. This was before…" She nodded to the technicians behind the display, and the image shifted to one of a lush field of tomatoes and peppers.

"…And this was after." Smiling one last time, she put her hands into her pockets and nodded to the Senators from the Budget Subcommittee. "Are there any questions?"

Senators Thompson and Graystone exchanged a look before going into a battery of questions: How much would it cost, when could it be implemented, were they certain there wasn't a risk, was there a chance of genetic anomalies, and others of that nature. Hastings, whose face had been aglow at the thought, found he had no room to speak, and finally gave up, wandering away from the others.

Simdorn was close at hand when Hastings got out of earshot of the other Senators. "Going off on your own?"

"There's no rule that says we have to stay together while we're judging this Contest of yours." Hastings said with a weary smile. "For that matter, it's probably better if I do split up from them. It may be the only way that I'm able to get a question of my own in."

"It sucks to be the new guy, eh?"

"Well, it doesn't help any." The junior Senator remarked blithely. He yawned for a minute and looked around. "There wouldn't happen to be a vending machine or something around here, would there? I'm in serious need of a pick-me up."

"We've got a few not too far from here." Director Simdorn answered, motioning to the south doors. "Come on, I'll walk you."

"They don't need you here?"

The leader of the Institute cracked a smile. "Yeah, that's exactly what they need. Some old fuddy duddy sticking his nose into their business while they're busy sweating bullets and whoring their ideas out to the federal government." The statement surprised Senator Hastings, who let off a muffled grunt and blinked to his associate with a confused look. The two kept on walking for another ten feet before Simdorn turned his head to the side ever so slightly, peering at the junior Senator from the corner of his eye. "Oh, I suppose you thought I was going to say something like 'just kidding', am I right?"

"I've just never heard somebody as…well, as preeminent as you state it so crudely."

Simdorn snorted. "I'm old, Senator. Grouchiness is my god-given right, especially since social security died seven years ago. Now come on."

"Tell me you have Mountain Dew here."

"Dew?" Simdorn laughed. "If you're looking for the sugared stuff, you're out of luck. We've got diet…but I'm thinking you might be more partial to Bawl's at this point."

"You've got Bawl's?" Senator Hastings asked, wincing only after he'd walked into the double entendre.

"We like ours cold." Simdorn went on, ignoring the obvious comeback. "And around here, we take our caffeine seriously. It's what keeps _us_ going."

True enough, Walter Hastings found the Bawl's to be quite to his liking. The fruity guarana beverage really hit the spot, and more importantly, he could already feel the caffeine send his heart racing.

"Christ, this stuff could start an outboard motor." He gasped, reeling from sudden awareness. Simdorn smiled and nursed his own cobalt blue bottle, saying nothing. "I'm feeling a hundred percent better already."

"Well, enough to get back into the fray, I hope. You've got fifteen projects in all to review, and you've only seen a third of them."

"Still, the ones that I've seen…outstanding, simply outstanding work." Hastings gushed, caught up in the moment. "I mean, plasteel? That could revolutionize everything as we know it, from houses to cars and…"

"There's no doubt about that. Dr. Maggie Ruth's the brains behind that little discovery; They've been tinkering on and off with it for three years now."

"And then there's that…Oh, what was it, HATS system?"

"_HASTE._" Director Simdorn calmly corrected the senator. "Dr. Beskin's work."

"Oh, that's right. High Altitude Storm Tracking Electronics, wasn't it? Weather radar?"

"Storm Tracking Equipment, and yes. You know, he believes that HASTE is the next evolutionary leap in Doppler radar?"

"His claims were…well, stunning, to say the least. I found it hard to believe that he could track storms a year in advance…"

"As Paul told me, the only reason nobody was able to do it before was because there were too many variables from too many places to consider; We really have a global weather pattern, after all."

"All of these creations…they could do so much for the United States. For the world, even." Senator Hastings went on, shaking his head. "It's a damned shame we can only pick one to fund."

"Then pick wisely." Simdorn urged the man. "And this time, don't pick the one that will only benefit the States. Whoever wins this Contest goes on to the one being sponsored by the U.N, and I'd really like to set our best foot forward."

"So would I, Director. So would I." The Senator agreed quietly, downing the rest of his high caffeinated beverage. "But to be honest, I don't know if the others feel the same way."

"They don't like the notion of a global Contest, then?"

"They serve the oath they took for the United States." Hastings said, realizing his error and moving to defend his colleagues. "Our own nation must come first."

"How very nationalistic of you." Simdorn mused drily. He looked at his drink, then set it aside. "Well, I'd best get back in there and make my appearances. Come along after you finish up."

Hastings, seemingly the most friendly of all the members of the Budget Subcommittee present, frowned and stood up. "Why are you so determined to treat them as an enemy?"

Simdorn paused at the question, and slowly turned his head about to glance at the man whose well being he'd just seen to. _"Science knows no country, because science belongs to humanity, and is the torch which illuminates the world."_ The leader of the Institute blinked his eyes, all purpose and careful contemplation. "Louis Pasteur."

His peace made, Simdorn left for the rest of the presentations.

Even though his drink was empty, Senator Hastings lingered by the vending machines for a while longer. He found himself conflicted, between the oath he'd taken and the realities of his position…

And the ethics he so desperately wished to live by.

* * *

"Thank you for that…interesting presentation." Senator Graystone finally said, folding his arms with a stare that spoke little of gratitude or interest.

Dr. Harutara Yoshi (Or Yoshi Harutara, as his name would be re-arranged in English) offered a polite bow, but the recently naturalized Japanese biologist and botanist knew full well that the death knell of his project had already been sounded. Senator Graystone and Thompson moved off from his booth, and the technicians from his staff and department began to come around him, offering their support as they only knew how.

One of his more intimate associates, a biologist he'd been dating for two months, went so far as to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Yoshi…Are you going to be all right?"

_"Ie." _The unassuming fellow replied, smiling through his glasses. _"Watashitachi wa haiboku, ne? Sore o owaru."_

"There'll be other years." Another member of his team urged, prompting confidence and a positive attitude the botanist seemingly had no grasp of. "We'll win, Dr. Harutara."

"But not this year." Yoshi Harutara answered, staring down forlornly at the shrub which would have glowed a bright incandescent green in darkness.

"Well, we can write off the biology department's proposal for this year." Senator Thompson exhaled, using her stylus to punch in a few last notes on her digital assistant. "If there was a more useless expenditure of federal money in recent years, I haven't seen it."

"Try your salary." Graystone grumbled, drawing a sharp and withering glance. Before Thompson could put in a word edgewise, he went on. "If you'll recall, I voted against the salary increase to 217,000 a year."

"You're one to hold the moral high ground." Thompson retorted acerbically, snapping her stylus into her PDA's side port. "But be honest. Would you put glowing shrubs over everything else we've seen here today? I mean, even Dr. Angstrom's solar absorbing "Energy Kites" have more purpose and functionality than the biology department's experiment."

"I really think it all depends on how much of an open mind you have." Senator Hastings interjected, coming up from behind his elder associates. The two turned with a puzzled glance, and the junior senator offered a keen smile. "After all, I could see where he's coming from. We waste a lot of money and energy building outdoor lighting for buildings, parking lots, runways…If we could get a plant which did the same blessed thing, and implemented it on a national scale, imagine the energy savings!"

"The government doesn't have the right to interfere in the energy industry's business." Senator Graystone announced haughtily.

"It did, however, have every right to whore out to the energy industry?" Senator Hastings countered grimly. Graystone's eyes went wide at the comment, and Hastings flashed an award winning smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have used the politically correct phrase; "Representing the interests of the energy industry in session," is that right?"

"You'd best watch yourself, Senator." Graystone said lowly. "The winds of fortune only blow in one direction for so long. Keep making comments like that, and you'll find your sails empty…very soon."

"The both of you, knock it off." Senator Thompson barked, the woman in charge. "Jesus Christ, this isn't a pissing match!" The two men glowered at each other for a while, but kept their mouths shut. Neither was willing to face the wrath of their third member; as the saying went, one did well to avoid a woman's ire.

She pulled the stylus back out of her PDA and opened up her files again, the woman in charge. "Anyhow. With Dr. Angstrom's proposal from the energy department and Dr. Harutara's glowing shrubs out of the way, we only have two left out of the fifteen department proposals left to listen to."

"Hmm." Senator Graystone harrumphed. "And what departments are those, exactly?"

Senator Thompson tapped a few more of the digitally displayed buttons on the touch-sensitive screen. "Near as I can tell, it's…Hm. The robotics department, and…a communications department?" She frowned and glanced to the others. "I don't recall ever hearing about that one before. Must be new."

The democrat looked to her screen and nodded. "Well, the robotics department is led by a Dr. Albert Wily…I've heard the name before. He usually has some very unique projects."

"Who's the second department head?"

"A Dr. Thomas X. Light." The veteran senator glanced about. "Hmm. That name doesn't ring a bell."

"New department, new scientist. New possibilities." Senator Hastings announced cheerfully.

Graystone's watch suddenly went off with a chime, and he glanced down with a cringe and a wince. "Hnnh. How the time flies." He glanced to his associates. "It's noon, just so you know. They should be breaking for lunch soon. We'll just have to see those last two projects after we grab some chow."

Sure enough, the teams who had already finished their demonstrations were beginning to close up, shutting down machines and moving off towards the cafeteria. Director Simdorn approached up from the west side of the hall, cheerful as ever. "I thought the three of you might like to break for lunch. We'd be happy to have you at our commissary today."

Senator Thompson offered a prim smile. "Thanks, but no thanks. We've already gone ahead and scheduled reservations at one of the four star restaurants in town…But we'll be back by two o' clock. See that the last two presentations are ready by then."

Graystone and Thompson made ready to push off, but Senator Hastings stood in one place, staring about with a curious look in his eye.

"Walter, are you coming?"

The junior senator grunted in surprise, then turned and shook his head at his superior. "If it's all the same with you two…I think I'll stay. I'd like to get a second look at some of these projects. It should help with the final deliberations."

"My, studious, aren't we?" She countered, the same curious smile on her face. "Are you sure? I hear our restaurant makes fantastic seafood crepes. Last chance."

Hastings smiled and shook his head again, and Senator Thompson shrugged her shoulders. "Have it your way. We'll see you at two then."

The two elder senators left without another word, moving for the front doors. Senator Graystone's voice, as it faded, mentioned something about a limousine waiting for them.

Director Simdorn waited until they were long gone, then set a hand on the young congressman's shoulder. "You know, I could get to like you. Just what made you decide to stay?"

Walter Hastings brushed a hand through his brown hair and cracked a grin. "Maybe I'm just not used to fancy eating like the others are. Never had the money for it when I was younger, never got a taste for it when I did." He laughed a bit at the joke, then gave his head a shake. "Or, maybe…"

They walked towards the cafeteria with the rest of the Institute either ahead of them or following.

"Maybe what?" Director Simdorn pressed, curious.

"Maybe I remembered why the Institute was built in the first place." The comment made Simdorn slow his steps, even as the senator sped his own up.

It was no coincidence that Simdorn ran the Institute: He'd been there since its inception almost thirty years before. His dedication had taken him from a mere lab assistant, to a doctor, and then after a five year stint as a department head…The Director's position itself. Through it all, he'd not once forgotten why he was there, or wasted an opportunity to remind the others.

The Institute had been built to make the world a better place.

And this year, it might do exactly that.

* * *

Vanessa Tercel found that silence during lunch was a blessing; at least, it seemed that way after another one of the Institute's many technicians, this one from the metallurgics department, let out a groan and looked up from his digital assistant.

"I just checked the top news stories. Ju-heez-imus Christ, the world's going to Hell."

"You don't say." Vanessa remarked drily, poking at her green beans and contemplating whether or not it was in her best interest to eat them. The casserole hadn't been that appetizing to begin with either.

"Totally." The technician went on, completely unaware of the disdain she was directing at him. "Gas prices just shot up to an average of eight dollars a gallon, for one. The peace talks between Israel and New Palestine have begun falling apart again, and there was another bombing in Tibet…"

None of those were particularly earth-shattering to Vanessa. The gas was a nuisance, but prices had been rising steadily ever since she was a child. And to think she could remember a time when gas was only three dollars and seventy-five cents…

"I tell you, it just makes me feel…"

"Frustrated?"

"Exactly!" The technician added exuberantly.

"I'll tell you what the real tragedy is. This casserole." Dr. Light grinned and plopped down next to the technician, and across from Vanessa. He winked and looked to the tech. "Am I right?"

Apparently, humor wasn't the sort of mood the man was after, and he picked up his tray and left scowling.

"Hmm. He must have liked the casserole." Light mused, after he was gone. Vanessa gave him a thankful smile and nodded.

"Thanks, Thomas. He was beginning to get on my nerves."

"I heard the conversation. That would bug me too." Her superior agreed easily. "I get tired of people who just complain about things and think that they'll get better because of the wasted noise. At least we're doing something here at the Institute to change things for the better."

She nodded her head. "Lunch has been better. I guess we should have packed a couple of sandwiches for today."

"Well, I may not have sandwiches, but you're welcome to this." Light reached into his pocket, and pulled out a bag of dried pineapple chunks. To Vanessa, it was a glorious treasure, and she was opening it almost before it left his hand. "Good grief, I didn't know you were that hungry." He chuckled, making a show out of checking his hand for missing fingers.

"It's been forever and a day since I've had pineapple…" Vanessa explained with a long sigh after swallowing her first piece. "Thank you."

The leader of the communications department waved off the gratitude. "So, what's been the musings around the Institute so far?"

"This batch of senators…They're not all that friendly, compared to past years. Everybody's been complaining about them—under their breath, of course. Graystone, the old guy, seems to be their ringleader. He hasn't seen a project yet that's pleased him. The woman, Senator Thompson's almost as much of a hard sell, but the cold hydrogen power cells from the energy department struck her interest. As for the younger one, Senator Hastings?? Simdorn's been buddying up to him a lot today. Supposedly, and this is just rumor from what somebody supposedly heard, but Hastings said he wished he could fund them all."

"How many of the fifteen proposals have they reviewed so far?" Light asked, swallowing a piece of casserole with a grimace, then reaching for his glass of iced tea.

Vanessa Tercel's green eyes went starkly serious in an instant. "They've reviewed thirteen projects so far. Only two left."

"Well, we didn't give a demonstration this morning before we broke for lunch, so we're one of them, obviously." Dr. Light remarked, stroking his chin. "Who's the other department that they have left to go?"

Vanessa hesitated for a moment, and Light put on his best disarming smile. "Come on. Who?"

"The robotics department." She finally admitted, lowering her eyes for a moment out of shame. She glanced back up and met his cool blue-eyed gaze. "Wily's."

Of all the projects which were left to go, Light had hoped that his wouldn't be the other. He closed his eyes for a moment, smiled, then let off a harrumph and a shake of his head. "It figures. Looks like we're finally going to be the rivals destiny's always tried to make us."

"What makes you think you and he are rivals?" Vanessa asked, honestly surprised at his reply.

Light opened his eyes back up and pointed at her with his fork. "Well, we fought over you, for one. You were on his team, and I wanted you on mine."

"Excuse me?" She lifted an eyebrow. "As I recall, _Light_, I quit working for Wily and joined you because I felt like it. And Albert wasn't exactly begging me to stay on his staff, either."

"All right, I'll concede that." The good doctor admitted. "But the notion holds."

"Well, it doesn't make any sense to me." Vanessa pointed out, interested in where he was taking the thought. "Wily works with robots. You're obsessed with Networks, programming, and communications. Just where do your two fields create a rivalry?"

He thought about it, pursing his lips. "I…I don't quite know how to describe it, really. I know he's smart; as smart as me, and definitely more knowledgeable about the business here at the Institute. I guess in the end, it's just this feeling I have…That somehow, ever since we've met, my career here at the Institute was going to clash with his, in some way."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "If you're worried about schemes or intrigue, you can forget it. Wily's a perfectionist, more than a little eccentric, and definitely a bastard to work for if you're prone to making dumb mistakes, but he's not a slimeball."

"Oh, it's not that I think he's going to try and sabotage our project." Light corrected himself hastily. "I just think…Maybe he has a better handle on this than anybody else. Have you seen him at all today?"

"Just once this morning. You were with me, remember?"

"Yes. And do you remember the look on his face?"

Of course Vanessa remembered; It had chilled her, and in so doing, had kept it as fresh in her head as if it had only happened two minutes before. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she spoke again.

"He…He was smiling. Like he knew something nobody else did."

"He was smiling because he was confident." Light added. "Like he already knew he was going to win."

Vanessa dropped her fork onto her tray and stared at Light. "Now that you mention it…I've seen him smile like that before. But only once in the last two months."

"You remember what he was smiling about?"

Vanessa leaned on her elbow, looking at Light with a pensive stare. "It was the day you showed up. He had that same knowing smile on his face after you left the robotics department that first visit. He said…He said that you were real. Nobody knew exactly what he meant by that. Maybe it only made sense to him alone, but…He's never smiled like that because of other people. Ever."

"I should feel privileged." Dr. Thomas Light intoned dully. He glanced around the cafeteria. "So just where is the man, anyhow?"

Vanessa scanned the room with one long sweep of her head. "Not here."

"Should we be worried?"

Vanessa Tercel pulled another two pieces of dried pineapple out of the bag Light had given her and shook her head. "It wouldn't be the first time that he's missed a lunch on the day of the Contest." She popped the fruit in her mouth and moved on.

Light, of course, thought about Wily for several minutes after.

* * *

Hastings had thought he was alone in the showroom, but it wasn't the first time in his life that his assumptions had been wrong, nor would it be the last. Surprise was still the order of the day when the noise of someone clearing their throat echoed behind him.

Startled, Walter Hastings whirled about to find himself face to face with one of the scientists from the Institute. He was a fellow of less than average build, a white labcoat over his denim blue jeans, white shirt, and red tie, and most importantly, thick black hair that formed itself into a comical mustache and bushy hair that seemed intent on falling to either side of his head.

The scientist waggled one (And only one) eyebrow at the Senator, then set his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I didn't know we'd have a member of the Subcommittee 'scoping out our work during lunch."

"Oh, I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any problems, I just…"

The scientist held a hand up to silence Hastings' explanation. "Relax. It's not like this place gets put on lockdown. It used to be that the various departments would have a technician or two to make the rounds over the lunch break, just to see what the others were up to. Before the final report we all get to look at, of course." He began to curl the end of his mustache and looked around the room, whose lights were half-off to save power. "For the last few years, though, I don't see many people in here when they don't have to be. Kind of sad, but there are times I enjoy the quiet." He stopped curling his facial hair and held out his hand. "Doctor Albert Wily, robotics department."

Hastings shook his hand, then connected the dots. "Robotics department? You've got one of the two projects we still need to look at yet today."

"Is that right?" Wily mused. His smile stayed firm. "And who might the other one be?"

"Doctor Light. Communications department."

Wily's face seemed to twitch for a moment, and though he kept smiling, it became strained. Hastings didn't notice the subtle shift. "Well, now. Doctor Light? That should be something to see."

"Oh, you know him, then?"

"You could say that." Wily admitted with a shrug. He scuffed the toe of his brown shoe into the floor. "Light's department is just down the hall from mine. We talk to each other on a regular basis."

"So you two are friends then?"

Wily smirked. "I'd use the phrase 'acquaintance', myself. Friend implies that there's some common experience or belief which we share, and I've yet to find something in our lives we have in common…outside of our intellects, of course."

Hastings absorbed it with a nod. "So Dr. Wily, just what are you going to be showing us today?"

"Aah aah aah." Wily tut-tutted, waving a finger. "No fair peeking. There will be more than enough time for you to see what me and the other shoe elves have been hard at work with. You've got all afternoon."

"Well, can you at least give me a hint?" Hastings asked jokingly. Wily smirked a bit more, then set his hands back into his pockets and looked up to the twenty-foot ceiling above them.

"A hint?"

"Something to let me know what your idea is, roughly. What you'll be showing us."

"I plan to show you the future." Wily responded, his voice somewhere distant.

Hastings blinked at the curious answer, and Wily bowed respectfully. "One last thing, Senator Hastings…When making your final deliberations, I'd advise you to remember what you said in one of your College term papers in exploratory natural science: _The mysteries of this world remain locked in places humans cannot reach, even with every tool at our disposal. The things we wish to know remain out of our reach…for while we are explorers, we are limited to the environmental conditions we were born with."_

Hastings felt a shiver run down his spine. "That…That paper was written more than twenty years ago. I'd forgotten…how did you find…"

Wily met his stare with a pleasant, but frightfully keen gaze. "I've made my success in life by knowing more than my opponents. As have you."

He gave a final bob of his head, then turned about and strolled off into the darkness of the showroom, as quiet as a soft breeze. Hastings checked his watch, then nodded and made a hasty exit for the cafeteria.

Senator Hastings had tarried too long.

He only had twenty minutes to eat before the others got back.

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_2:00 P.M._

"Remind me if we're selected to come back next year to avoid the house ranch." Senator Graystone remarked, wincing as he pressed a hand against his midsection. "It plays Hell on my ulcer."

"You know, Bill, I'd be hard pressed to find a food which didn't anymore." Senator Thompson said, a faint smile for his distress lighting her wrinkled face.

Senator Hastings, who had rejoined them only minutes before, drummed his fingers on the sides of his trousers. "So, two projects left." He glanced around, noticing how the scientists and technicians who had already presented were taking down their stations, or if not that, were lingering, waiting to see what their decision would be. "Which one do we want to go see first? My vote's for the communications department."

"I really don't care." Senator Thompson admitted shrewdly. "I just want to choose the best one possible and get back to Washington. I've a fundraising benefit to get to tomorrow, and I'd like to have some rest before then."

"I think we should go see the robotics presentation first." Senator Graystone rumbled, combing back his thinning pepper gray hair. "But that makes our vote one to one, with Jessica undecided."

The two men looked to their female counterpart, who rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly. None of us are the Vice President, so who am I to cast the tie-breaking vote?" She thought about it for a moment, then snapped her fingers and reached for her purse. "We'll solve this the old-fashioned way; a coin toss."

She produced a standard Washington quarter, showing the two senators that it had both a heads and tails side to it. "I'll throw it up in the air and let it land on the floor. Clear?"

Both men nodded, and she went on. "Bill, you have seniority, so what's your call? Heads or tails?"

"Heads." The elder senator exclaimed quickly.

"Which would make mine tails." Hastings added. Graystone arched his eyebrows at his junior, and Hastings shrugged, smiling. "Tails never fails."

"All right." Senator Thompson summarized. "And no complaining about the call. Heads, we see the robotics department presentation first. Tails…We visit Dr. Light's setup."

The most powerful woman in Congress deftly flipped the coin up into the air, and every set of eyes…not just their own, but the pairs belonging to the few members of the Institute close enough to see…watched it arc up into the air and fall.

It seemed as though the world itself held its breath…pondering the outcome of that single coin flip. An outside observer would have commented, however humorously, that it stood at a crossroads, waiting.

At last, it fell, ringing as it spun about and settled. When the quarter stopped, the senators looked down to the floor and confirmed the call.

Tails.

"Tails never fails." Senator Hastings repeated his saying for the benefit of all present, and Senator Graystone scoffed at the reference.

"Like it matters. Come on, then. Let's get over to the communications display, and be done with this."

The rest of the crowd, witnesses all, followed them.

* * *

"Al Gore once said, among his many claims, that he invented the internet." Dr. Light's opening statement brought plenty of chuckles from the congregated audience, and even a bemused smirk from Senator Graystone. "Of course, he didn't. The internet was originally constructed as a communications network by the Department of Defense between various computing projects from the mid to late 20th century. That network was called DARPA, and soon after, there were others; ARPANET and the UUCP to name two. The internet was originally constructed as a means of allowing various systems with high data content to interact; the basis for library software. It was limited to technicians who were, at the time, doing little more than dabbling."

Of course, Light could have gone on, but there was still the two minute rule of demonstrations. If he couldn't get the three visiting senators engaged and interested in the next minute, he'd never be able to pull off the sale. Keeping that nugget in the back of his mind, he fast-forwarded.

"It took the personal computing revolution to truly jumpstart things. People started using the internet for things we now take for granted; bulletin boards, chatrooms, commerce, and most importantly, the sharing of ideas. The beautiful thing about the internet has always been that it's fundamentally a place where anything and everything has a place. Thanks to the work of particular groups in the early 21st century, the internet survived the attempts of corporations at privatization and remained what it still is today; an open forum. But the internet isn't perfect, and people have been saying that for years. The biggest flaw in it is that all the ideas in the world, all the sites dedicated to topics both humorous and serious all rely on one thing; that the people visiting them can understand. The problem with the internet is that what you can do is limited by the languages you know. If you don't know Spanish, you can't use latin American websites. Sketchy on German? You can write off a sizable chunk of Northern Europe."

For the duration of his speech, Vanessa Tercel had done nothing except stand beside the two laptop PCs sitting behind Light. Now, she triggered them out of their hibernative state and into full power. She handed one to Dr. Light and kept the other for herself, standing a fair distance apart from him.

"Thank you, Vanessa." Thomas Light remarked, tapping in a few keys and bringing up a new program window. "What I'm about to show you will change the internet forever. I've only been here at the Institute for less than a month, but if I've learned anything, it's that the big ideas are the ones we have to make. If _language_ is the biggest roadblock to fully understanding everybody else in the world, _communication…_The ability to comprehend another person, no matter where they're from or what language they speak is the thing to overcome that obstacle."

"Keep this up, and you'll put them to sleep before you show them how it works." Vanessa mused aloud, prompting a chuckle from those gathered. The joke did what it needed to; Light caught himself and grinned, and the senators all gave their full attention.

"The program we've been developing is the language conversion software for "Alpha", a prototype of the next evolution of the internet I've been working on for years. Both of our computers have the same software, the same components. I will speak a phrase of German into my PC, and it will be transmitted over our chat program to Miss Tercel's laptop, where it will come out in English. Any questions?"

Not a single hand went up, so Light drew in a breath. "Here goes then. _Ich sollte nie gehabt haben, dass dritte wurst, es mich krank bildete!_"

There was silence for a long moment, and then, quite to everyone's surprise, Vanessa's machine chirped…

In Light's own voice.

_"I never should have had that third sausage. It made me sick!"_

Eyebrows went up, and while Graystone looked amused and Thompson intrigued, Hastings seemed dumbfoundedly amazed.

Light smiled and set his laptop aside. "As of right now, the program can translate ten different languages instantaneously. An algorithm connected to it preserves the speaker's voice tone, timbre, and inflection for use in the translated message. It's the first, and most vital part of the greater project: The Network. A world more connected, more cooperative than ever before; a world where the greatest qualities of the internet, and humanity, come together to create the next revolution."

Senator Thompson raised her hand, curious. "This…Network. Tell me, what do you see as its overall goal?"

"A world which chooses to talk about its problems in a truly open and equal forum." Light said calmly. "Language is what limits people. If they do not understand the language of those they need to talk to, those they have to work with, or live with, then they are left at an impasse. Without a common way to communicate, people can grow angry, can become hateful. I remember my father told me once about how bad things almost got in the first decade of the century, with latin Americans in this country. Families from Mexico running around in stores speaking Spanish; there were almost riots, as the years went on! But if the people who were seething, who were judging them had been able to understand what they were saying, and hadn't seen their language as threatening, none of that would have happened."

"The goal of the Network…Is equality. Real, complete equality." Light finished, pounding a fist down onto his open palm for emphasis. "Terrible things are happening in this world. There's inequality in our resources, in our land management, in our beliefs and in our human rights. Once we all can speak commonly…Once we are all equal in the written and spoken word, maybe the rest won't be so hard to deal with. That is my goal, and the driving force in my work…and my life."

Graystone said nothing. Senator Thompson managed a prim smile and tapped a few more buttons on the touch-sensitive screen of her PDA. Of the three, only Senator Walter Hastings seemed fully amenable to Light's plan. His eyes sparkled with the promise of what "Alpha", what the Network could bring.

"Well, Dr. Light. I must say, for your first entry into the Contest, you certainly did a fantastic job in producing a model like this so quickly." Senator Thompson began. "I'd like to thank you for the efforts you took to get here."

Dr. Light bobbed his head up and down. "Are there any other questions I could answer?"

"I'm just wondering, could that program of yours translate another message? In a different language, this time?" Light blinked, and the Senator smiled, almost like a viper to a mouse. "After all, for someone of your prodigious talents, it shouldn't be too hard to come up with another one."

"Fair enough." Light finally exhaled. He picked up his machine and nodded to Vanessa. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." She smiled back. "What language are you going to use this time?"

"Let's see if you can't get this one." Light laughed. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them up with the most tender smile he could think of. "_Si je n'ai pas dit avant, Vanessa... Merci pour croire en moi."_

Light's only assistant blushed redly as she muted her laptop before the translation matrix could spout off the English translation of what he'd said. In the wonderment that followed, she bowed her head and shook it, still blushing madly.

"You made it hard not to."

"Now hold on a minute." Senator Graystone protested. "How come she shut it off? I couldn't hear what you said, Light!"

"She heard me." Light smiled, glancing at her for a long while before turning back to the senators. "And hers were the only ears which mattered."

There were a few last questions, and then the three senators…and the crowd…left for the last project.

Vanessa set her machine aside and walked up to stand beside Light. "Thomas, did you mean what you said there?"

"About equality?"

"No, not that, I know you meant that! I mean…"

"Yes." He interrupted her, smiling and watching them go. "No matter what happens…I meant that with every fiber in me."

_If I have not told you before, Vanessa…_

_Thank you for believing in me._

His hand went up behind her, then came to rest on her shoulder.

She merely blushed all the more, called him an idiot…

And didn't move away.

* * *

Wily's team stood behind him, all poised and ready for what would follow. Their project waited underneath a tarpaulin, and the man himself stood in front of the table.

The three senators sent from the Budget Subcommittee looked at him with scrutinizing gazes. Their stern appearance had caused others at the Contest to become meeker, subdued versions of themselves. With Wily, it had the opposite effect.

Wild black hair, formerly outstretched, now seemed as though it had exploded. His calculating sharp eyes now gleamed brightly, and there wasn't a hint of fear in him.

Hastings shivered again as he stared at the man called Dr. Albert W. Wily. For as pleasant as he was, there was no way to shake the sense of foreboding he put off. It wasn't intentional; it was as natural as his mustache and the intellect that could skewer mountains.

Wily started with his hands in the pockets of his white laboratory coat, looking as he did every day with denim blue trousers and a red tie underneath. Others wilted under the pressure.

Like coal transformed to a diamond, Wily became something more.

"Today…is a wonderful day to be here." He announced, and a cheshire grin rose to match it. "The Contest brings out the best in us, no matter what our fields. Here we stand, scrambling madly in this shallow pool of brilliance, each trying to scream louder than the others, 'Here is all I am!' We prostrate ourselves before those sent by our elected leaders to show the pinnacles of our achievements, in the slim, fanciful chance that _this time_, we might be the cinder girl taken to the prince's ball. Here, we push our very limits, reaching for that miraculous gift of science! _Die Götter sind tot und Mann hält Göttlichkeit in jedem Gedanken und in Idee!" _At this, he flung his hands into the air above his head, offering announcement.

Halfway back in the crowd, Light furrowed his eyebrows. Director Simdorn glanced back to him and blinked. "Light, what did he just say?"

He's just rambling about how our ideas carry the only divine influence left in the Universe…essentially.Light translated. "Is he like this often?"

"At the Contest, he is." Vanessa piped in, looking worried again. "He thrives on pressure, and on being the center of attention. He's a clergyman's worst nightmare…because he's exactly the same as them."

Light leaned his head closer to her, speaking out of the side of his mouth. His eyes were too transfixed on Wily's triumphant posture to break away. "Does it work?"

Vanessa, of course, knew that Wily hadn't had a successful project yet, only because other departments with more tenure had produced better, more meritable works than he had. Somehow, though, watching him at work instead of being on his team, she suddenly realized that this time…

Light was the one without experience.

"Today, you've seen a great many wonders. Whether it was Dr. Graham's cold hydrogen cells, which will certainly replace today's existing ion packs, or Maggie Ruth's "Plasteel," you've got your hands full. There were fifteen projects today that you have to choose from. Each will, in their own fashion, alleviate the problems of today and help the United States walk into a brighter tomorrow." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Well, I will admit that my own project isn't as unique as Dr. Angstrom's 'energy kites', or as relieving as Flora Jane's soil bombs will be to our weary grain fields. I didn't push the envelope in biology like Dr. Yoshi or create a multipurpose military tool like Janelle Martin's flight drones. Me, I run the robotics department. I'm a simple man. I build automatons to do specific jobs." He lifted a finger up, still smiling. Every set of eyes watched in rapt attention. "But then, that's like shooting myself in the foot. The call for the last twenty years has always included multifunctionality; "Great, it can do this, but what else can it do?" That's always been the trick to robots, you see; you can only program them to do so much. You build them for one thing, and by their very composition, that's what they're limited to."

He waggled both eyebrows; a juvenile gesture, but one that only Wily could get away with in such a majestic institution. "Until today." He snapped his fingers, and the tarpaulin came off from the table.

A gleaming robot, finished in brilliant chromed forest green and looking for all the world like a makeshift turtle with four squat legs and a rounded head, waited patiently. Wily nodded to his technicians, willing them…and it…to work. "Start it up."

At their control station, the robotic engineers put in the code sequence for system startup, and the robot flickered to life.

Its eyes, empty and blank before took on a pale red hue…then a green one…and then at last, a blue before cycling through all three and switching to a placid pale white.

The four squat legs began to extend out, becoming almost spiderlike. It flexed for a moment, considering its environment, and stretching out a tentative forelimb to find the edge of the table. Its head seemed to crane about, and the white eyes centered in on the obstacle.

Wily made a cutting motion across his neck, and the techs put in another command. Instantly, the robot who might have been called curious if human characteristics applied, fell back into a state of dormancy; online, but awaiting orders.

Wily turned to look back at the three senators. "This is my little contribution to this year's grand scramble. It is the first of a new breed of robots; its artificial intelligence is rudimentary, if you compare it to famous models from science fiction, but highly advanced for the technology of today. I even had to create a new term for it; it is a _mechanoid._ A step above normal robots, to be sure."

Wily walked next to it and pounded on its back with a fist. "Its body is constructed of reinforced titanium; That's strong enough that a five hundred pound boulder wouldn't do more than dent it, at a drop from five feet. All of its components are rated for most terrestrial environments; it isn't suitable for Antarctic conditions or the chill of outer space, but it can handle the rest without much difficulty. It runs on variable power cells; regular deep cycle batteries give it an operational time of four to five hours. Give it one of the newer hydrogen ion cells and it'll go for days."

Wily held one hand palm out to the side, then drummed his fingers on it. "We call this fellow the QB-M, officially. The M is for mechanoid, so most days we just call it the "Kewbee" for short. Its construction makes it ideal for exploratory missions, and its composition makes sure that it'll have the ability to get where it needs to go. With the right additions, you could send this thing to explore active volcanoes, into waterlogged areas, and almost anywhere else you could think to put one." Wily looked as though he might almost cackle, and he nodded back to the techs. "Let it go for a bit. Let's see what it does."

The robotic engineers all chuckled a bit at that, and the man at the controls put in the command. Instantly, the QB-M began to move again, shifting one leg over the side of the table, then shifting its other foreleg about until it was leaning half off. One push from its rear legs sent it wobbling forward, and before it could collapse, the back legs landed onto the floor of the showroom. It righted itself and began to look about, registering every person that looked down at it, standing at a comfortable foot and a half high.

"Right now, Kewbee is registering each of you with its sensors. It's equipped with short range radar, regular visual sensors, and an infrared scope. We've planned out other possible additions such as side-scanning x-ray, but they would've killed our budget." That brought some laughs. "Kewbee is an exploratory robot. It's been programmed to be naturally curious about its surroundings. If it had an actual mission programmed into it, all the data it's collecting now would be used to create a topographical map for later reference. For now, it's simply storing the layout of the showroom into its memory; much the same way we glance at a room to remember where the doors are."

Kewbee started to walk forward, hesitantly at first, then with an average pace. "In this mode, kewbee can average about ten miles an hour; not as fast as a person running, but damned chipper for a thinking mechanoid. It has two central gyroscopes in its inner housing; one main and one redundant backup, and four more pairs of main and redundant gyros in each of its legs. This gives it unparalleled balance, no matter what terrain it's crawling over."

"Well, Dr. Wily, I have to say I'm impressed." Senator Graystone remarked. "You've designed one very sturdy explorer robot…but I have to ask, what makes this so different from some of our lunar rovers in the last space race fifteen years ago?"

Wily's smile became almost venomous; he'd been waiting for that question.

"Senator Graystone, as I recall, you were on the oversight committee for the Luna missions. Those 'rovers' you spoke of; they ran on variable treads. Kewbee uses legs."

"So it uses a slightly different locomotion system. I still don't see what makes your… "Kewbee" vital enough to be put above the other projects we've seen today."

"Multifunctionality." Wily went on, not fazed in the slightest by Graystone's scrutiny. "The rovers on the Luna missions had to be built with special internal housings for their equipment; that drove the price up substantially. After all, it's not like the rovers had actual hands to manipulate devices. They're not human, after all."

This brought some laughs from the audience, even from Graystone, who redirected the ribbing straight back at Wily. "Oh, come on. Are you trying to tell me that this robot of yours…"

"Mechanoid."

"…This _mechanoid_ of yours…has hands?" The senator finished irritably.

"Of course, sir." Wily smiled, the Cheshire cat once again.

Graystone walked over to Kewbee and knelt down in front of it. Mechanoid and human regarded each other for a long moment, and the senator frowned. "Funny. Where did you put its hands? All I see are legs." He got back up and stepped away from Wily's work.

"Oh, they're not hidden. Kewbee's had them all along." Wily explained, and this time, he did actually cackle a bit. The techs at his station all shared the same grin, and then looked to Wily.

He pointed at them and curled his mustache. "Engage the Bipedal Drive."

The Kewbee shuddered again, and suddenly rocked onto its back legs. Its limbs stretched out and extended, and to everyone's shocked amazement, the Kewbee's forelegs stretched farther out, and through an odd series of contortions…became arms, complete with five fingered hands that flexed and unflexed. Now standing erect, at nearly four feet in height, Kewbee glanced around the room as a child would look at adults.

"My _GOD."_ Senator Thompson ejaculated, sounding more terrified than she had ever been before. "It's…Is it thinking about us?"

"Do you mean to say, is it pondering why it doesn't look like you, and all the other mysteries of the universe?" Wily joked. He shook his head. "Relax, senator. As I said before, its intelligence is rudimentary. It is limited by its programming—which at the moment is little more than explore and observe obstacles and creatures. It registers you as a creature, and thus, a living obstacle. No more, no less. It will avoid contact with you, for safety's sake."

Indeed, Kewbee began to stroll around the room, while keeping a wide berth of a foot and a half from every person. His footsteps were firm and solid…but far from the fluidity with which a human walked.

The sudden transformation of Wily's mechanoid did not go unnoticed by Dr. Light or Vanessa Tercel. While Vanessa merely shook her head, understanding too late why Wily had been so thankful to the both of them for their efforts, Light actively fumed.

"How can he do that? That's our work!" He hissed to Vanessa. The former technician of the robotics department glanced at him, weary.

"He asked. You gave. And there's nothing you can do about it now."

"Kewbee can move about on his own, but as you can see, his personal abilities are a bit lacking. That's why Kewbee's permanently tied in to the controlling software at our console; if the situation Kewbee's in goes beyond his AI's ability to handle, a human operator can take over his functions and guide him as you could any other remote controlled automaton."

With the flick of a switch, Kewbee straightened up a bit, then started bounding about the room with far more grace and agility.

"Top speed in his bipedal form is fifteen miles an hour; average human speed for running. But what really sells the Kewbee is his ability to go from four legs to two. QB-M stands for _Quadriped/Bipedal Mechanoid_. He can skitter around on all fours on conditions which need the extra balance and a lower center of gravity, like climbing hills and going over rocks…but when you need him to work with tools, whether scientific or otherwise, you just set him into Bipedal Drive and all of a sudden, you've got a pseudo-human tool-using assistant. In other words…the perfect explorer robot for the new age."

Wily tucked his hands back into the pockets of his lab coat and nodded. "All right, take him back in, people." He turned to the senators. "Of course, multifunctionality still applies. I see Kewbee doing a lot more than just exploring jungles and volcanoes. You could train him for bomb disposal crews in police teams. He can run janitorial duties. Explore and clear out sewer systems. There are more jobs that Kewbee's capable of than I can list. What he can't handle himself, the Remote Guidance, or RG system can make up for. As they say, the sky's the limit."

Kewbee came to a stop in front of the senators and turned about to face them. Wily nodded to the techs. "Put him in greeter mode."

A few clicks later, Kewbee's internal servos and processors whirred, considering its new task. It hesitated for only a moment before stretching its arm out; offering its right hand in a friendly shake.

Graystone looked at the others, then reached out and took the robot's five-fingered appendage into his own. The hand closed; firm, but gentle. And then the two shook.

Wily was prouder than a peacock. He set his hands into the pockets of his laboratory coat and gave one last nod of his head for respect's sake. "Fitting that the future should begin with a handshake. Most good things do."

Graystone took his hand back, and there was no mistaking that the elder senator was sold. His eyes had the same gleam as Wily's…although with a hint of something else enshrouded within. "How much would it cost to make another one of these units?"

"Throw in the full-function optics like it has here, the reinforced titanium, and the ion power cells…You'd be looking at about 100,000." Wily estimated.

"Cheaper than the real thing…" Graystone mused. He smiled to reset himself and nodded to the others. "Well, now that we've seen the last presentation, why don't we adjourn to a more private area and make our decision. Senator Thompson, I'm assuming you've been taking fantastic notes as always?"

"Of course." The Virginia delegate responded, recovering her balance. She looked around for Director Simdorn and cleared her throat. "Is there anywhere in this building that's private?"

"We're not usually inclined to keep secrets from each other most of the time…but I suppose you could use my office." Simdorn answered slowly. "Just be sure not to break anything in there."

"I…we, rather…await your decision." Dr. Wily concluded, giving them one last warm smile.

"We should be done in an hour's time." Senator Thompson said, for all present. "We'll announce the winner of this year's Contest then."

The excitement, at least, took a moment's reprieve. The scientists and technicians from each of the fifteen departments at the Institute began to disassemble their layouts and disperse back to their various nooks and corners of the building.

Wily and his team were left alone to shut down and reset Kewbee, save for two members of the audience who tarried. Wily knew they were there, but said nothing. He assumed that Light would speak when he was ready.

"Why did you do it?"

Light's accusation surprised Wily, who paused from examining one of Kewbee's four legs and turned to face his friendly rival. "Why did I do what?"

"The Bipedal Drive: You used the code that Vanessa and I created!!" Light elaborated furiously.

Wily reached a hand to his head and began to rub at his temples. "If I recall your E-Mail, Tom, it was all Vanessa's work. You said so. _Thank Vanessa_, remember? I congratulated her on the basis of that program. Why are you so upset?"

"I helped you as a favor, not so you could steal her work!" Light fumed.

"Miss Tercel was an employee of the robotics department at the time of your breakthrough." Wily made sure to catch Vanessa's eye as he said that, so there would be no mistaking who it was really directed towards. "Her work fell under my jurisdiction." Wily pointed a finger at Light. "And if you're about to say I "Stole" her work…remember that _you_ were the one who _gave_ it to me."

Light felt his knees start to go weak. He felt betrayed, and angry, and suddenly aware of a darker side to everything.

_"You're going to see a level of competition that will make you question whether or not these are people that you want to be around." _

Vanessa had warned him that he would see a different side to people today. Light had always known Wily was ambitious and calculating. Now he had discovered that the "Mad Scientist" was shrewd as well.

"You had this planned all along." Light swallowed to aid his dry throat, but it didn't help. "All this time…you were using my help for this."

Wily gave his head a shake. "No. I didn't have some grand scheme in place to take advantage of your talents. It was a windfall…An unexpected one. It wasn't until you inspired Vanessa to write the solution that we were able to use Kewbee for the Contest. However you view it…You solved the last riddle we couldn't. And you and Vanessa do share some of the credit."

He held out his hand, and Light ignored it.

Wily retracted his arm with a sigh. "I warned you, you know. I told you that your first responsibility was to your own work. I didn't lie to you, Light."

"No…No, you didn't." The head of the communications department finally admitted. "I just didn't catch the hidden message. And even if you didn't betray me, I feel like you did."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Wily said, almost genuinely remorseful. Light caught the subtext in his words this time.

Wily didn't apologize…because he believed there was nothing to apologize for.

"If it means anything to either of you, I thought your idea of a Network was inventive and original." Wily went on, complimenting the work of his rival. "With some fine tuning, you could bring it out next year, and win the Contest then."

"How come you're talking like you've already won?" Vanessa asked warily. "It's going to take them another half-hour at least to finish the voting, and they gave themselves more time than that."

Wily considered the question. "Call it…a feeling." He shrugged. "I went last, after all. That left me in an interesting spot. Being at the end of the day, I had to work the hardest to impress them…but also, it left me with the chance to leave the strongest, and freshest impression in their minds."

"Well, I won't bother wishing you good luck then." Light finished, not as angry as he had been before…but certainly still bitter. "It seems like you made off with most of mine."

Before Wily could level a retort, he whirled about and walked off. Vanessa stayed on a bit longer, considering the man she used to work for.

Albert Wily tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, and shrugged. "I did try to warn him."

"You're abhorrent some days, Albert." Vanessa leveled accusingly. "Why couldn't you come clean with him in the beginning?"

"If I had, would he have been as quick to do it?" Wily posed innocently. "I made no secret of the fact that he had to first protect his own interests. He chose, of his own volition, to do what he did. He never asked what it was for."

"He deserved better than that. He deserved far better."

"He deserved the truth of this place." Wily countered, calm and rational to a fault. "He feels betrayed. I can deal with that. But it's far better this way than being truly betrayed. His dream is intact, not torn." He quieted for a moment, shaking his head. "At least I could do that much for him…give him the chance that was taken from me."

"So you see yourself as some sort of good Samaritan?" Vanessa asked incredulously.

"That would be too difficult to aim for." Albert retorted. "Tough love would be more appropriate."

"So what now, hmm?" Vanessa went on. "Who will you 'educate' next?"

Wily rubbed at his temples. "Vanessa, you and I have had our differences. I don't approve of people who make mistakes, but you've redeemed yourself. It's your code flowing through the QB-M's circuits. Your soul." He pulled his hand away from his face. "If we win this thing…I'd like to have you with us. It's only appropriate, given that you're as much a part of the team that built Kewbee as the rest of the staff."

Vanessa couldn't have looked more incredulous if she tried. "Are you serious?"

"I usually am, most days." Albert nodded. "Let's be honest. Robotics is your field. It's where you belong. If we win the Contest, come with us. Help us to make the QB-M series into reality."

"My dream." She paraphrased, tasting the word. Light had his dreams…

Shouldn't she have hers?

"You were meant for better things than learning french from a polyglot and tinkering with Networks." Wily went on insistently. "The Institute is supposed to help people change the world, right? Here's your chance!"

"And all I would have to do…would be to leave the man who made me feel needed." She finished. The glare had returned in her eyes, and Wily, outside of a raised eyebrow, showed no signs of dismay. He'd half expected her to remain emotional.

"I may not be pushing the envelope of robotic technologies with Light and the communication department, but at least I feel like I _belong_." She added with a snarl. "That's more than you ever did. So just go on then, Wily. Go on and build your little robots, or mechanoids, or whatever you call them. And do it without me…and without Light."

She turned about and followed after Thomas, who would certainly be in need of a stiff dash of grape soda, a precious commodity in the age of shortages.

Wily, if he was inwardly disturbed at all over the day's events, didn't show it in the slightest. He curled his comical black mustache a few more times, then turned about and went back to his team.

One of the other technicians glanced up bemusedly. "To state the obvious, I guess she won't be coming with us if we win."

"_When_ we win." Wily corrected his underling. The scientist of German descent laughed a little and kept loading parts into their travel boxes. "And no, she won't be. She made her decision a long time ago."

That was all he had to say on the matter.

* * *

"I want that robot."

Graystone spoke as a man who was used to getting what he wanted. "It's exactly what we've been looking for."

"And when you say, "We," you mean who, exactly?" Senator Thompson inquired. "Myself, I favor the HASTE system. So you're obviously not talking about the Senate."

"If I'm allowed to voice my opinion…I think that the Network Dr. Light talked about is the most worthwhile project I've seen here today." Hastings interjected. "Light said it could help to begin solving the world's troubles. I believe him."

"Talk never solved anything." Graystone shot back. "It would take too much work, time, and money to get the Network off of the ground. And besides…how does that Network of equality help _us?_"

Hastings was more than a little dumbstruck at Graystone's opinion, but the old man forged on. "The Contest was implemented to provide the United States with increasing levels of high technology. Just us. Sure, we may let a few go international, but we have first choice. And right now, we need Wily's robot more than we need Light's Network."

"For what?" Hastings demanded. "What good is a semi-sentient automaton with dual purpose locomotion? That won't help us to repair diplomatic ties, or solve the energy crisis, or unite the world!"

"Your oath you took upon becoming a senator said nothing about serving the world. It said everything about serving _your_ country." Graystone growled. "And right now, Wily's robot could very well be the next great weapon we've been looking for."

"WHAT?!" Hastings exploded, leaping from his seat. He searched Graystone's face for any sign of mirth or madness.

There was none.

"Wily didn't make that robot to be used for war!"

"Wily made a robot which had _multifunctionality._" Senator Graystone pointed out, crossing his arms. "He made it rugged enough to explore in a volcano with the proper shielding. I guarantee that it has battlefield merits. And with that Bipedal Drive, it can walk or run as well as any soldier, especially with a human behind the controls of the thing. If it can hold a scientific probe or a pair of wire clippers for bomb disposal…it can hold a gun."

Hastings felt as though he'd stepped out of reality and into a nightmarish science fiction tale. "Do you realize what you're _saying?_" He whispered. "Robots killing humans! And you want to promote that?!"

"This world isn't as cheerful as you would want to believe, or as rational as Light thinks it is." Graystone rumbled. "That's always been the problem with you wet-nosed ideologues. You believe that everybody else will think exactly like you. But you didn't fight in Afghanistan. You weren't stationed in Iraq when the insurgency drove through Baghdad dragging eighteen year old soldiers' bodies behind them. I paid my debt to this country in blood when you were nothing but a tadpole with a spinal column inside your mother."

The elder senator stepped right into Hasting's face so the junior senator, shocked, would feel the weight of his every word. "The rest of the world isn't interested in solving its problems. The rest of the world, every single country, only cares about one thing; Their own survival. And they'll do whatever it takes to ensure that happens. Recruiting Wily's robots means that we'll stand a better chance of coming out on top when trouble hits. And believe me, it will hit."

"If something terrible does happen, it will be because people like you believed in tragedy and doomsaying long enough to render its inevitability!" Hastings argued. "For God's sake, don't you see that all your talk about preparation and your jingoistic attitudes will land us smack in the sort of mess you want to prevent?!"

"Now you're going to lecture me about history repeating itself, right?" Graystone mused. "Of course, if you knew history at all, you'd know that it _never_ repeats itself, because every cycle has its own differences." He glanced over to Senator Thompson and arched an eyebrow. "And why haven't you said something?"

"And get in the way of your cock fight?" The Virginian woman retorted bemusedly. "There's an old saying in the countryside; you don't break up a fight between two dogs until they're tuckered out, or you'll get chewed up yourself. Besides, I don't often get theater. I have to get it where I can."

Graystone snorted. "Very well. But as it stands, Senator Thompson, you hold the deciding vote."

Thompson rolled her eyes. "I don't suppose there's a chance I could convince either of you to switch yours to endorsing the HASTE system from the meteorological department?" Their grim stares said otherwise. "I expected as much." She sighed. "Very well. So you're going to leave it in my hands, are you?"

"Senator Thompson, you've served longer than I have." Walter Hastings pleaded. "You know what kind of an opportunity Light's work has. It could completely change the world. All we need is a little foresight, and a little of his optimism, and that reality of a peaceful world isn't so far off!"

"I want peace as much as anybody." Senator Graystone rebuked. "But you know as well as I do, Jessica, that peace never lasts as long as we'd like. Our military has tools. It doesn't have men. If we took Wily's robot and converted it into a combat unit, we could have some of the most effective troops the world has ever known. They'll need no training, only programming. They need no food; only power supplies. They ask for no time off. There would be no sickness or mental fatigue. And most important of all, behind them, controlling them if need be, would be our own soldiers…far out of harm's way. Peace may still happen…but if it doesn't, then let's prepare for the worst. Endorse the QB-M. Ensure this country's future."

Jessica Thompson sized up each of them, glancing down at the notes on her digital assistant with more than a hint of trepidation. "For the record, I hate being caught in the middle. And I detest the both of you for putting me in this spot."

"But what are you going to choose?" Walter begged.

She shut her eyes, but not to think. The resignation in her face said that she'd already made up her mind.

"If I had heard Light's project last…I would have voted for him. But Wily had the final say. He had the most to prove, and he proved it." She opened her eyes and looked apologetically to the crestfallen Hastings, a member of her own political party. "I don't agree with Graystone's view of the world. But at the same time…Even if we don't use these robots for war, there are other uses. And they're ready now. Light's Network could be a wonderful thing. Maybe in a year…But for now, we have to go with what we have immediately."

She rose out of her seat and walked over to stare out of Simdorn's window. "The cold hydrogen power cells…the soil bombs…private industry will pick those up and pay for them to go into production and circulation. But nobody in their right mind would pay for Wily's robots, or Light's Network. Outside of us. The Contest was designed to give worthwhile ideas a chance to live. This year…I vote for Wily. His robot, by a vote of two to three, will receive full government funding."

"And supervision in its construction." Senator Graystone amended quickly.

Jessica Thompson set her arms behind her back. "And that as well." She concluded quietly.

Hastings shut his eyes. "I guess I know why they sent me along. They just needed a body."

"It's not the end of the world, Hastings. Jesus." Graystone complained. "Relax. So you didn't get your way. Hell, I'll even throw in a letter of recommendation for you to lead the Subcommittee next year on this visit. Then you can get Light's Network off the ground in 2040, all right?"

Hastings looked to his fellow congressman and shook his head. "It'll have to do." A thought flashed in his head, and his face darkened again. "But remember. The winner of this year's contest was going to have their entry sent on to the international Contest sponsored by the United Nations. If you're planning on making…warbots…How are you going to keep them secret? They're going to know something's up if you don't pass the project along."

"Oh, we'll pass it along." Graystone mused, rubbing at his chin as his keen intellect, not dulled by the years, began to whir into motion. He smiled darkly after only a second and a half. "Wily built an explorer robot. And that's _exactly_ what we'll send along."

For not the first time in that long day, Walter Hastings shuddered.

The room felt colder.

* * *

The Institute took the announcement of Wily's triumph with its usual candor and sad acceptance. The robotics department cheered, though there then came the bitter realization that Wily would be leaving them for a long time. As Senator Graystone told them, the next stage of development would require new facilities. In two days, the Senators informed Wily, they would send a private transport helicopter for him, his team, and whatever equipment they needed to improve and mass-produce the QB-Ms.

That was only slightly unusual, in that the winners of the Contest didn't always leave the Institute to continue their work. It had been done before, with the last time being five years prior.

For the rest of the Institute, life went on. Already, the department heads were brainstorming with their teams, making plans for next year's Contest. Some projects would be improved on and added to. Others would be stored away for later examination, and new horizons approached.

With the Senators gone, Simdorn resumed his usual demeanor, unaware of the sudden chill that ran between Light and Wily's respective spheres. The cafeteria continued to do the best they could with the shortages. People still fretted about the news. The Contest was a breath of fresh air that came once a year and gave people a chance to think of what might be…before returning to what was.

The night guard noticed on the night after the end of the Contest that Light's motorcycle remained out in the parking lot, untouched. Moreover, the lights in the communications department stayed on long past midnight. It wasn't the first time he'd seen such behavior, but it was always associated with all-nighters. All-nighters didn't happen after the Contest, always before.

After the second night of that behavior, he reported it to Simdorn, who in turn, asked Vanessa the next morning as she drove in what was going on.

All Vanessa could tell the director of the Institute for certain was that Light had taken the results of the Contest very hard…And that maybe with time, he'd recover his usual candor.

But Simdorn, who knew everybody at the Institute on a first name basis, knew Vanessa well enough to know that she was holding back some of the truth.

Something had changed in Light.

And he might never be the same again.

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Director Simdorn's Office_

_June 17__th__, 2039 C.E. _

_10:14 A.M._

_"It's going to be a long twelve months, waiting for the next Contest."_ Senator Walter Hastings said glumly. Sitting behind his desk, Director Simdorn smiled and swiveled about to stare out his large window.

"Oh, don't you worry yourself none, Senator. A year goes by pretty fast. Just stay focused on running the country, and you'll be back here in Redmond in no time. And how did you finagle yourself a spot on next year's Contest observers?"

_"I think it was a consolation gift from Senator Graystone." _Senator Hastings explained. _"I really thought Light's project was our best choice. He talked Thompson into going along with his view…In the end, I guess national priorities got put ahead of everything else. Even the world's hope."_

"I'm sorry to hear that." Simdorn offered. "But why the call? It sounds like you wanted to tell me something, but…"

_"I'm sorry." _

Simdorn adjusted his glasses and sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Come again?"

_"I wanted to call you…and tell you that I was sorry. Sorry for not being stronger. And tell Light I said that. Let him know that he at least got through to one person. I think he needs to hear that."_

"I could swear you're psychic." Simdorn complimented the senator. "I've heard that his behavior's become very erratic recently…maybe that will help to break him out of his rut."

_"I just…I feel so helpless!" _Senator Hastings exploded bitterly. "_I was elected to change things, and I can't even change a simple vote!_"

"As I've discovered, there's nothing simple about the Contest." Simdorn retaliated placatingly. "People will vote their conscience, according to their beliefs. Yours will be wildly different from Graystone's…Hell, even from mine. I know it's not much…but as long as you live your life in alignment with helping humanity, and with a clear conscience as well, then you've nothing to be sorry for. This year, your voice wasn't loud enough. Next year, senator…maybe it will be."

_"Maybe." _Walter Hastings agreed quietly. _"And for what it's worth to you, Director Simdorn…thank you."_

"For what?"

_"For reminding me about who I am."_

The line went quiet, and Simdorn set the phone back on its hook. He swiveled about again and folded his arms on his lap, looking out of the window.

His intercom chirped. _"Director, the transport helicopter has landed. Wily's team has begun loading its gear."_

"Very well." Simdorn acknowledged. "Tell Albert…good luck."

_"Yes, sir." _

Randall Simdorn could have gone up to the helipad, and stuck around to say farewell to Wily in person…but somehow, he felt that his place was right where he was.

Sitting in his office, staring out his window…

And wondering what was going to come next.

* * *

_The Communications Department_

_10:16 A.M._

Light didn't have to look up to tell who was staring at him. Wily had his hunches, and Light had his intuition.

"I thought I'd come and say goodbye before I took off."

Light stopped writing code and leaned back in his chair. He didn't care that his hair was disheveled, or that his clothes underneath his lab smock were rumpled. Somehow, none of that seemed important.

"I didn't think you'd have the gall to come in here and speak to me, after the stunt you pulled." Light began. He slowly turned around and took in the sight of Wily.

For a change, the professionally immaculate head of the robotics department wasn't wearing his white lab coat. The blue jeans, brown shoes, and red tie, however, were all still in place.

Wily ran a hand through the balding spot in the middle of his forehead. "Tom…If I had handed you the programming code to completely rewrite the internet into your Network, wouldn't you have used it in your presentation?"

"I would have had the good conscience to ask your permission first."

"That's unfair of you, and you know it." Wily countered. "You GAVE it to me. That implied permission. What upsets you is that they didn't buy your idea…but it's still your idea, Tom. Nobody stole it. Nobody profited from it."

"So I'm young and naïve, is that it?"

"I've been working here for years. I was young and naïve too. But you have friends here. And your best work is yet to come."

Light pursed his lips. "It's not like you to be encouraging, Al. Not from what I've heard from others."

"I demand excellence from those that work with me. But you: You demand it from yourself. That's why I _can_ be encouraging. I look at you…and I see a man who can do just as much as me. We're both twenty-six. Both geniuses in our fields. This place needs people like us. And since I'm going…Well, I suppose I came here to pass the torch."

Thomas Light crossed his arms. "A torch for what? I'm not a robotics engineer."

"You program like one, though." Wily said in return. "I can't help but wonder how Kewbee would perform…if it was your code running its legs, instead of Vanessa's."

The stunned look Light gained made Wily give his head a shake. "She didn't tell me anything. But I figured it out on my own. She forgave you for that, Tom. You lied to her, and she forgave you. So why can't you forgive me…for this?"

The comparison was one he hadn't thought of, and numbly, Dr. Light shook his head. "I don't know."

Wily closed his eyes. "You and I are acquaintances here. Around the Contest, I always was more focused less on the people, and more on the project. I thought…I thought I'd have time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to get to know you better. Time enough, perhaps…to be your friend."

The two scientists stared at each other for a while longer, neither saying anything. The phone clipped to Wily's waist went off with a chirp, and then a voice broke in.

_"Doctor Wily? We're all loaded up, sir. We're just waiting on you."_

Light bowed his head. "You should get going. They're all waiting for you."

The dismissal finally broke Wily's resolve. The wild-haired scientist scratched at the left side of his jet black mane and sighed. "I didn't know you for long, Thomas. But I liked you. I may never have said it, but I liked you."

"So why bother telling me this now? What good does it do? You're leaving."

"Not forever, though." Wily pointed out. "And when I come back…I'd like to think that you won't see us as enemies."

"We're not enemies, Albert." Light reminded the Contest winner. "But we're not friends either."

Wily ground his teeth, then nodded. "You want to change the world…but you won't change yourself." He turned about and walked off. "I won't bother you again, then. Not for a long while."

"But eventually." Light finished. "And you're hoping that when that time comes, that everything will be right as rain."

"I know it will be." Wily concluded, turning his head half about so Thomas Light could see the quaint, but faint smile on his face. "Because there's something else we have in common. It kills us to stay mad at people. Especially when they want to patch the bridge up."

He offered one last wave of his hand, then left the communications department. Light shook his head and went back to writing in code.

Wily had been right about that; Tom did find it pointless to stay angry at people.

But it was a good thing he was leaving to work on producing the QB-M.

It would be a long time before Light could forgive him.

* * *

The helicopter rose up into the air with Wily on board, and sitting across from Senator Bill Graystone.

"I have to say senator, I'm a little surprised to see that you stayed in the area. Why the escort?"

The canny politician drummed his fingertips on his knee and shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure that you'd feel settled in at your new place."

"Speaking of, just where would that be exactly?" Albert Wily asked. "My team's a little anxious to let their friends and relatives know where they can be reached."

"Aah…about that." The senator said, after a momentary pause. "Your work's very important to the United States government, Doctor Wily. Your explorer robots could conceivably be put into nearly every application we could think of…including some very sensitive ones. Until the QB-M series is completed and put through its last trials, everything about the project, including the whereabouts of you and your team are to be kept secret. We even put the findings of the Contest under restricted access."

Wily balked a little bit at that, and saw that others on the team he'd recruited to go with him had similar reactions. "Just what are you saying? Are we prisoners?"

"No, far from it." The senator waved off their concern. "But for the sake of the project, there will be certain steps taken to preserve its secrecy."

Wily crossed his arms. "If at any time somebody on my team wants out of this, you have to promise that they'll be allowed to leave. We're civilians, after all; we don't take orders."

"Of course." Graystone soothed him. "I completely agree."

Wily glanced to the rest of his technicians and engineers; the reassurance had only won them over slightly. "So just where are we going?"

"Have you ever been to the Mojave Desert?" Senator Graystone asked with a smile. "There's an old air force base there we refurbished a few years back. It'll allow you total privacy…and I hear they even installed a twenty person hot tub and games room just seven months ago."

"Fun in the sun, hmm?" Wily mused.

"And Kewbees for the world." Senator Graystone said, smiling behind his glasses.

* * *

_The Isle of Mykonos, Cyclades Islands_

_The Aegean Sea_

_June 17__th__, 2039 C.E._

_8: 32 P.M._

Of all the people who were a part of the X organization, few knew who exactly Mr. X was. There were rumors, of course, even in the ranks: One said that Mr. X was actually a misnomer, and that the organization was led by a set of warlike intellectuals. Another rumor went that the underworld organization was actually run by, and funded by one of the military powers in the world. There was even one, for those who enjoyed such flights of fancy, that Mr. X was an extraterrestrial, sent to earth for reasons unknown.

The truth was far less entertaining than the fictions.

Jessica Bravewind walked into the bedroom of Oliver Xanthos; a lesser son from a multimillion dollar family invested in olive oil and wine, a playboy and philanderer who dallied his time in the Mykonos isles. The woman with ebony hair glanced around for a moment, pursing her lips and taking her glasses off. As far as the world was concerned, Xanthos was just another elitist socialite; best ignored, and often scorned.

She had been hired, officially, as his secretary slash assistant. And true enough, the athletic woman did perform clerical work for him. She acted as his liason for phone calls too sensitive to risk him speaking, and was known in the inner circles of the organization as the "Voice of X."

Some even suspected that she was the one in charge of it all.

Jessica unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. The room was dark, and the walkout window leading to the balcony was open. A cool Mediterranean breeze blew in, a welcome presence after the hot day. She didn't expect to find him in his bed, and true enough, he wasn't.

She reached inside of her blouse and pulled out a nine millimeter pistol, setting it on the nightstand beside his bed. Following that came the two extra magazines from a hidden pocket of her long ankle length skirt, two Swiss army issue polymer combat knives, a length of high tensile garrote wire, and a pouch of throwing needles. All of this went on to his nightstand; his policy was that all weapons were to be left away from the balcony.

Not even his bodyguard was immune from that rule. Although when it came down to it…she really didn't need the weapons anyways. People just saw them as part of the job.

She walked out, and just as she'd predicted, she found him reclined in a sunbathing chair beside the railing…staring out over the sea.

Noiselessly, she drifted across the balcony and stood behind him, putting her hands to work massaging his shoulders. He tensed for a moment, then sank into a languorous stupor. At least, more of a stupor than he'd been in, and he'd been going at a fair clip, given the empty wine bottle beside him. It was one of the less spectacular vintages from the Xanthos vineyards, she noted. He was looking to get drunk.

"Ohh, that feels wonderful." He breathed. "Jessica, you're amazing."

"You should get to bed, sir. It's going to be a long day tomorrow." She informed him, polite but professional.

"Oh, I'll get there when I'm good and ready." He chirped, amazingly concise. He was mellow, but aware; apparently, he'd built up his tolerance enough to reach a dozy state instead of inebriation. "Right now, I just want to enjoy the evening."

"By the looks of it, Oliver, you've already done that." She chastised him. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The occasional glass, fine, but to purposefully over-imbibe?"

"I don't recall hiring you to be my mother." He groused. The wine glass in his hand dropped down and clattered on the stone. It didn't break, thankfully.

She didn't sigh or act disgusted; it wasn't a part of her training to do so. She simply pushed for the problem. "What's keeping you up tonight, then?"

He did seem more troubled than usual, as if some problem was lingering in his mind. She went on massaging his shoulders, as if that intimate caress and touch could coax his worries out of him. It usually did.

Tonight was no different. "Today, I was working on routing another shipment of rockets to northern Africa…and I felt a shiver."

"A shiver, Oliver?" Jessica asked, with her pale green eyes shining in the moonlight.

"That was it. But it got me to start thinking…that maybe I had done something I shouldn't have. Uneasiness, maybe." He tried to rationalize it. "It's not a good thing to have in my line of work."

Jessica said nothing. It was clear all of this was leading to some decision.

He chewed on his lip for a few seconds more. "Jessica?"

"Sir?" His secretary and protector asked solemnly.

Oliver shifted forward, breaking away from her long-fingered hands and their soothing touch. He drew a knee up towards his chest and hugged an arm around it, looking out over the sea. "I think…This time, it's appropriate to be paranoid. It's always served me well, kept me prepared for anything."

He turned about, and behind the alcohol induced haze, there was a perfect instant of clarity. "Tomorrow…I want you to inform _Archimedes_ that they're to begin construction on _Elysium._"

She blinked, genuinely surprised. "Are you sure, sir? That would mean diverting a substantial portion of your profits out of your weapons trade and into…"

"Jessica, I'm a billionare, according to my accountants." He interrupted her. "Money only does so much for you, and it's doing less and less these days."

Mr. X raised his finger at her. "First thing tomorrow. Elysium."

She nodded. "First thing tomorrow. Very well, sir. I'll clear your schedule so you can supervise the build. For now, though, you need to get to bed."

Oliver's eyes went dull. "No. Not yet."

Jessica's hands went to the front of her blouse and began undoing the rest of her buttons. To Oliver Xanthos' surprise and pleasure, she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.

She cast the garment aside and wrapped her arms around herself, cupping her breasts in that certain way she knew he liked. "Bed. Now."

Mr. X might well have been one of the most powerful men on the planet, but there were some orders even he still had to follow. Responding to that base urge (But one made far easy by the beautiful young woman who always found new ways to astound him), Mr. X retired to his bedchambers.

A full hour later, the exhausted weapons dealer and tycoon fell asleep. Jessica panted for several minutes after, then when her racing heart finally calmed down from the intense and rigorous sexual intercourse, climbed off of his mattress and lay the covers over him.

She cleaned herself up, then slipped her clothes back on, picked up all her discarded weapons, and made for the door.

Jessica lingered long enough to look back towards him. In a precious moment, she even allowed herself to display a modicum of sympathy and compassion for the man she was willing to die protecting.

Even when they were together, he was alone.

"Good night, Oliver." She whispered, and vanished from his room.

If she had ever been there to begin with.

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Redmond, Washington_

_July 18__th__, 2039 C.E. (1 month later)_

_1:32 P.M._

"Tom…Come and look at this for a minute."

Dr. Light paused his soldering for a moment and glanced over to Vanessa, who was sitting behind his computer. He did this for two reasons; one, there was concern in her voice, but more importantly…

She'd used the shortened version of his name. And she'd never done that before.

"Whaddya got?" Light asked, putting his circuits aside and meandering to stand beside her.

Vanessa tapped on the flatscreen monitor display. "I was just looking at some of the old programming code for your Network prototype…Alpha, right?"

"Alpha is what I designated it, yes." Light agreed, peering closer. His eyes scanned over the jumbled alphanumeric sequence, jibberish to those who didn't understand the system. "What did you find?"

She brought the cursor up into the code window and highlighted a large portion of the displayed sequence. "This is the passage of the Network code which deals with forging connections, right? Searching for compatible systems, and so on?"

"That's right. I made it so someone using the Network would be able to find others who had also upgraded past internet status."

"Well, it was going to do a lot more than that." She reasoned, only slightly worried. She broke the highlight, then lit up a smaller portion. "If I'm reading this right, Alpha wasn't going to just passively search for other Network-ready systems. It was going to _convert_ them. Take control of every net-equipped system."

Light's eyes widened. "Forcibly? How could…I didn't…"

He peered closer, and in that small passage, perhaps only four or five lines of code, was the worrisome fifteen kilobytes Vanessa had been able to find. "My God." Light swallowed. "You're right."

"Then I don't need to tell you how dangerous that is." Vanessa continued. Light gave his head a shake.

"Fix it. The last thing we need are viral programs being able to spread with impunity. Anybody hijacking Alpha's protocols could take down the entire net, if we leave that in."

Vanessa's fingers went to work. "I'm already on it."

Light massaged the back of her neck with one hand. "You're amazing, Vanessa."

She smiled and harrumphed a bit, not moving to break the contact. "Keep that up, and I'll be saying the same thing about you."

"I was wondering…are you up for some Chinese food tonight?"

"I might be. What's the occasion?"

"No reason. Just a good meal with good company."

The Institute's building-wide intercom crackled to life, and Director Simdorn's voice rattled over the airwaves. _"Hey, everybody! Dr. Wily's about to present his QB-M robot at the international Contest. I've set up the broadwave, so turn your viewers to channel 54!"_

Light's hand paused in its work, and Vanessa craned her head backwards and up. "Should we watch it?"

Light frowned. "Why?"

Vanessa shrugged. "Because. I don't know. Do you need a reason?"

"It would be nice." Vanessa offered. "I mean, he's going up against the best of the best from around the world. It'd be funny to see if he slips completely into raving in German."

Thomas actually laughed a little at that. "Oh, lord. I almost forgot he does that when he's under pressure." He breathed and nodded. "All right. Let's switch over and see how he's doing."

Wily was presenting the QB-M, almost the same way that he'd done a month before at the Institute. Somehow, though, he seemed more subdued, as if his heart wasn't quite as into it as he had been before.

The minutes ticked by, and still, he only highlighted what it could do in its four-legged mode.

Light frowned. "Why doesn't he convert it to Bipedal Mode? That's why we gave him the code, isn't it?"

To their shock, though, he went the length of the presentation without ever once even mentioning that capability. He bowed in gratitude, and then was done.

"I don't get it." Vanessa mumbled, shaking her head. "Why didn't he use the Bipedal Drive?"

Light sifted it through his thoughts and memories. "Neither of us were all that happy with him for doing that to us. You don't suppose…you don't suppose he took it out of the final build? To apologize?"

Vanessa shook her head again. "Your guess is as good as mine. That's not the Wily I'm used to seeing, so I suppose anything's possible."

Wily went on, though. _"As a gesture of goodwill, we plan on making the Kewbee series available free to every country who wants them; in limited quantities, of course. There has to be enough for everyone." _

"Oh, lord." Thomas exclaimed. "Free? How did he clear THAT with the government?"

"Maybe Wily convinced them about the true spirit of the Contest, after all." Vanessa suggested.

"Maybe."

"Say, I tried to E-Mail him the other day…but it bounced back, saying his webmail had been shut off." Vanessa added.

Wily blinked. "Really? Well, that does happen on occasion. A hiccup in the…"

"No, it's not just that." Vanessa went on insistently. "I've tried to reach some of the others. I've tried to find them…tried to call them. They don't even pick up on their cell phones. It's like they've disappeared off the face of the earth."

Thomas Light pursed his lips, and stared at the zoomed in image of Kewbee, green chromed titanium and all.

There were secrets behind its blank eyes.

"Wily has his reasons." Light rationalized calmly, switching their monitor back to the display of the Network program code. "He always did."

Vanessa had to nod in agreement to that, and then returned back to her work.

Wily was a world away from where they were. He'd chosen his road.

Dr. Light had his.


	6. Heat of the Moment

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Five: Heat of the Moment**

"_I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you."_

**Elizabeth Barrett Browning**

* * *

_Dr. Light's Apartment_

_Outside of Redmond, Washington_

_May 22__nd__, 2040 C.E._

_6:27 A.M._

A year had passed since Vanessa Tercel had first walked in on his life, rushing into the elevator and worried about a project proposal to her superior. There'd been good times as well as bad, but in the end…

He lay awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and every beat of his heart reminded him of the fact that Vanessa was sleeping out in his living room. _On his couch._

It had been a long night, as Vanessa tried to instruct Light in the necessary lessons of metallurgics and coil resistance for their latest project. At times, he'd been a very ostentatious pupil, but in the end, her hard work paid off.

Then they'd realized the time in their fatigue, and it came down to a question of how to solve the evening's dilemma.

Light smiled to himself and tucked his hands behind his head. Oh, he remembered that exchange quite well, including how red in the face he got.

Vanessa, ever the proper lady, had headed off any awkward question and refusal with a tired smile and the words, "I'll just sleep on your couch tonight."

And now, he lay in bed, wondering if she was awake or fast asleep. Truth be told, there wasn't any hurry in getting to the Institute immediately. The contest was still almost a full month off, and Simdorn had more or less given Light tenure after the head of the communications department had cleared six months on the job. That was going to come in handy sooner than expected.

A month ago, Vanessa had joyfully informed him that not only was he to be the best man at the wedding of their (Once only his) friends Rick Williamson and Lisa Marine, but that on Lisa's insistence, Vanessa was to be the maid of honor. The wedding, which was set to take place in June after the Contest, had taken up all of Vanessa's free time.

With no sigh, for he felt alive and glad to be alive, Dr. Thomas X. Light rose up and sat on the edge of his bed, looking to the nightstand. Enough light was filtering through the window that his eyes were able to see the object resting on top of his wallet perfectly. He picked it up, smiling all the while, and sat there, staring at it for several long seconds.

It was a photograph; one taken of him and Vanessa on one of their afternoon strolls and dates. She was sitting on a park bench, and he stood behind her, the silly idiot to her quiet blissful state of being. What made his heart pound even now when he looked at it was the pose. His arms were crossed about her midsection, with the hands cupping at her navel, holding her close as if not to lose her.

_You're going to have to do something about that one of these days, Light._ The voice in his head criticized. He shook it off and set the picture back down. She was a wonderful woman, Vanessa. The light of his life. It was more than the fact she could set ice on fire by walking into a room. No, what had won him over, boundless, head over heels, was her smile, her intelligence, her compassion. In spite of all of that, he suspected she wasn't quite as patient as some believed. Or maybe it was he who was impatient. Whatever the case was, he was going to do something about it all. Soon.

He checked to make sure his shirt and sleeping shorts were still in place, and then walked out—softly—into the living room. Tom stilled soon after.

Even watching her sleep only made his heart ache a little more. She was resting comfortably on the couch, with her head propped up by a pillow on one armrest and the blankets held against her rising and falling chest with an arm. As proper as he, she slept in long-legged pajamas and a t-shirt. He considered waking her with a kiss, but, as bashfulness was his more dominant trait when it came to love, decided that making breakfast would work just as well.

So it was that half an hour later, Vanessa Tercel came walking into the kitchen with a hungry, but cheerful look on her face. The two met stares for a long while, and somehow it didn't matter that they were still in the clothes they'd slept in the night before, or that they hadn't showered, or that his hair was as spiky as a Toriyama-esque protagonist.

For one brief moment in the beginning of their day, neither thought of the Contest, or the Institute, or anything else in the world. For that one long, intimate glance, there was only a man and a woman, both hopelessly in love with one another, and both unwilling to say what they knew as truth. That silence didn't seem to matter to them. Words would have diluted the message they shared.

At last, Tom picked up a plate from the counter and shoveled on some hashbrowns and eggs, then handed it to Vanessa. "I made them the way you like them." He said merrily.

"Over-hard?" Vanessa giggled a bit. "Thank you." She took the plate and set it on the table.

Light turned back to the rest of the hashbrowns. "I'm sorry about last night. Next time, you can take the bed and I'll take the couch." To his surprise, her arms came up underneath his and her head nested on his shoulder.

Her breath, warm and smelling slightly of cinnamon even in the morning, tickled his ear. "Maybe next time we can pull an all-nighter at my place."

"Why would we do that?" Thomas asked, curious of the suggestion.

"Because," She went on, making his heart flutter at the power in her voice, "My apartment doesn't have a couch."

Thomas Light wisely shut the heat off to the hashbrowns and put his spatula aside. It came none too soon, for not long after she had him pinned to the counter, and his mouth captured by hers. He pushed his hands into her hair and pulled her head closer to his, returning the favor all too eagerly.

It was another five minutes before they finally sat down to breakfast, and by then her eggs were cold. But just like all the other troubles in the world that morning…

It didn't really seem to matter.

* * *

_12 miles out from Dr. Light's apartment_

_Just north of Duvall, Hwy 203_

_9:42 A.M._

The trucking industry had changed a lot because of the Shortages. Now, the caravans of the road ran primarily on soy biodiesel, but even that hadn't saved it entirely from the ravages of time and change. Nowadays, the carriers of U.S. goods were fewer than they'd been in the past, but not so rare as to draw attention.

It was precisely what the odd passenger in Evan Paltry's semi was after. At least, the trucker thought to himself, the 'fella' was a quiet passenger. He seemed like he hadn't slept in days. More or less, he'd stumbled into the truck stop in outer Boise, asked if anybody was going in the direction of Washington, and if they'd mind having a passenger. As soon as Evan had volunteered and taken him on board, the man had fallen asleep in the cab. He'd more or less let his head slump against the window, shut his eyes, and tightened his thick overcoat around his body.

The man hadn't ever given his full name, choosing to call himself "Al" instead. He wasn't much for company, but Evan didn't get a bad vibe from him. He was too well dressed to be a bum. He just looked like somebody down on his luck, trying to get home. What really stood out was his hair; pitch black with some faint traces of gray, and parted off to either side of his cranium. If Evan would remember nothing else, that hair would stick in his mind.

"Hey."

Al still didn't move, so Evan nudged him in the shoulder. "Hey, buddy, we're here."

Al grumbled a bit and groggily rose back to his senses. "We're whu?" He mumbled, pulling his head off of the window.

"We're in Washington. Have been for a while, but I need to pull over and fuel up again." Evan motioned towards a truck stop up ahead, verifying his claim.

Al ran a hand through his black hair, yawning. "Christ, what time is it?"

"Half past nine. You've been sleeping ever since we left Boise, fella." Evan chuckled a bit. "I was beginning to wonder if I should charge rent."

Al smiled at the joke. "Well, I wouldn't blame you. Just where in Washington are we?"

"We're about to pull into Duvall."

Al's eyes lit up, but he hid it from Evan. "Duvall? Where's that?"

"It's about ten or fifteen miles out of Redmond; you know, where they have all those video game companies and stuff. I'm heading through there on my way to pickup in Seattle."

"Aah." Al mused. "Redmond. Well, I don't think I'm going in that direction, my friend."

"No problem." Evan grunted. "We'll just drop you off in Duvall and you can be on your way, Mr…"

"Call me Al."

"Al again, huh?" The driver rumbled, downshifting as he pulled off of the highway and into the truck stop. As they slowed down, he risked a sideways glance. "You're not running from any kind of trouble, are you?"

"Afraid you're carrying a convict?" Al teased him. He held out his wrist, to show that it was bare. It was common knowledge that prison inmates were given permanent armbands with GPS locators, which bonded with the skin so they couldn't be removed. "Relax, Evan. I'm just trying to get to some friends that need some help."

"Must be some friends if you're willing to risk hitchhiking all this way." Evan Paltry remarked, spinning the wheel to pull into a parking spot. The airbrake hissed and he pulled his cap off, wiping his brow. "It's weird to see tagalongs these days that aren't College dropouts or troublemakers."

"Not everybody's out to screw over the world." Al remarked, digging into his wallet and pulling out three hundred dollar bills. He passed them over with a handshake and a smile. "Some of us are just trying to get where we need to be."

Evan took the money and chuckled softly, giving his head a shake. "And where would that be, exactly?"

"Where mistakes can be fixed." Al said, quieter than before. He looked off into the distance for a bit, then blinked and brought himself back to the present. "Take care of yourself, Evan."

"Whatever it is you're doing, Al…good luck." Mr. Paltry replied. The fatigued stranger bobbed his head one last time, then opened up the passenger door and hopped out.

Evan watched him pull out a compass to get his bearings, and then the man who identified himself as Al vanished off to the west, going slightly south as he did. The truck driver replaced his hat and grunted, counting the bills and wondering what he was going to have for breakfast. Occasionally, a good deed did pay off.

Ten minutes later, walking through mostly untouched terrain, Dr. Albert William Wily, sans the comically villainous mustache, checked his compass again and winced at the digital readout of the time. "Have to move faster." He told himself, suddenly fearful again. There was a reason he wasn't traveling by car, and there was a reason that he'd even thrown away his cell phone and almost every other piece of technology which came equipped with communications.

They were already looking for him.

But if there was one thing "Al" was certain of, it was that he couldn't give up. All he had to do was make it to the Institute. If he could make it there without being discovered, without being captured and taken back...

No. He'd seen the unmarked black sedans cruising the highways before jumping aboard with Evan. He couldn't walk there. They knew he was coming. He needed help.

And there was only one man whom he both trusted…and who was also, officially, the last person people would believe he'd go to.

"Please be there." He prayed, for whoever was listening.

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Director Simdorn's Office_

_11: 15 A.M._

"You'll have to run that by me again. You want to do **what?**"

Dr. Randall Simdorn's incredulity was well founded; the person he was speaking to, a Captain Rogers working underneath the current head of the Army, had dropped a bombshell and a half.

_"You will turn over all materials and personnel related to Dr. Wily's work in the robotics department for the last five years."_

"He's only BEEN here five years!" Simdorn exploded. "And why in the **Hell** would I do something like that?! The Institute is a civilian concern. _Civilian. _Has been since it was founded, and I've been with this place since the beginning."

_"Times change, Director." _Captain Rogers remarked crisply. _"At the moment, this is an informal request." _

"I don't care if his Holiness the Pope comes down and blows the holy spirit out of his asshole." Simdorn snapped. "I'm not about to pass over Wily's work, _**or**_ his people. You got that?"

_"As I was saying, this is an informal request. For the moment." _The Army bureaucrat went on. _"However, if you refuse to comply, we will be forced to take other measures."_

"Sure, go get a court order." Simdorn fumed. "Meanwhile, I've got half the senators in Congress who owe this place a favor for one good deed or another. You wanna throw shit around? You'd better bring a bucket, if you expect me to do something that harebrained without a reason."

_"As I told you before, this is a matter of national security, Director Simdorn. That information is Restricted Access, and you are not cleared to know it."_

"Then shove off." Simdorn growled, slamming his phone back on the hook. Hanging up on the man may not have been the wisest move, but he was old, crotchety, and it felt damn good. At his age, a certain amount of crankiness was almost a given.

He leaned back in his chair and turned about, glancing out his window. The skies were clear, for a change, and sunlight streamed in to make all the plants about his monastery of knowledge grow.

Something was up, that much Simdorn knew. It had been a source of constant concern, not only to him but to the others left in the robotics department for the last year why none of them could reach Wily or the rest of their comrades. Even the families of those men and women had expressed concern…Though not for long after they all received settlement checks to keep quiet, assured that their relatives were "doing important work for the country." And somehow, Simdorn doubted they were working on another Manhattan Project.

But they were doing something. And apparently, whatever it was had the higher-ups worried.

Simdorn was damned if he was going to let them militarize any part of the Institute. The military had no place in the building of a better world.

He clipped on his earpiece and tapped in the dialing sequence for the robotics department. The technician who Wily had put in charge after his departure picked up after the first ring. _"Yes, Director?"_

Simdorn walked out of his office and down the hall. "I just got a call from the Army…it seems they want to militarize the robotics department and ship you all off, with every piece of research from the last five years."

There was a pause on the line. _"I hope you told him where to shove it." _The engineer, a man called Frank, added drily.

"In so many words." Simdorn agreed warily. "I'm coming down right now. In the meantime, I want you to get the others organized."

_"What did you have in mind, Randy?"_

"The military seemed awfully set on getting their hands on anybody and anything that Wily's touched. Given how he and the rest of his team all but vanished when they left, I'm smelling blood in the water. It's high time we figured out just what exactly is so flaming important that they'd wave the national security flag."

_"…Hold on a minute." _Frank chirped up. There was the sound of murmuring voices for a few moments, and then Frank picked his phone back up. _"Director, we haven't heard from Albert recently, right?"_

"Last I saw of him was a year ago when that helicopter flew him and his team off." Simdorn replied, not missing a beat. "Why?"

Simdorn could almost picture Frank sitting down at Wily's old computer station, given the creak of a chair in the background. _"A bulletin just flashed over the Net-News. The FBI's started a manhunt…for Dr. Albert Wily."_

For a moment, the Director of the Institute felt his pacemaker skip a beat. "Start digging, Frank. None of this is playing out like it should."

_"Aye-aye, sir."_

Simdorn tapped his headset off and kept walking.

This was not how he liked to spend a Tuesday morning.

* * *

_The Communications Department_

"This is going to work." Vanessa declared, beaming at the screen.

Dr. Light looked up from his latest tinkering into robotics and pulled his welding visor up. "The Network? Of course it will work. When did you doubt it?"

His one and only assistant stuck her tongue out at him before laughing. "Tom, it's one thing to believe in something. It's another thing entirely to see it take shape." She pushed herself away from her computer display and stood up, stretching out her arms and back.

Light, who was still looking in her direction, saw the wince. "Vanessa, are you all right?"

She caught herself and waved off his question with a blush. "Oh, I've just got a crick in my back. I must've pulled something sleeping last night."

Light drew a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've just given you the bed…"

"No, it's all right! Honest!" She countered, realizing that he was slipping into endless apologies.

He let out a long breath of air, then shook his head again. "So you finished the final build then?"

"The Network protocols are all ready. I'm compiling it right now. The matrix is set up with the forty-two primary languages you programmed in, and…"

Light perked his ears up. This was the most important part of it. If the compiler finished its work without a glitch, then all the pain of the last eleven and some odd months would be worth it. If it didn't take, and there was an error somewhere in the code, it would mean another day or so to run through every last line of code in search of the one piece which had stopped it all.

Vanessa's voice hung on for a few moments, but she finally let out a sigh of relief as her machine beeped. "No errors. The build…is finished."

Light stood up, and his face shone almost as brightly as it had that glorious morning. "It's done." He exclaimed happily. "The Network…Alpha…it's DONE!" He let out a whoop of joy and rushed over to Vanessa, scooping her up in his arms and twirling her around by her waist.

She laughed, openly and honestly at his jubilation. Even when she playfully swatted him to let her down, she couldn't break the happiness that they'd built. It worked. It was finished and it worked, and this year…

His lips met hers before she could finish the thought, and suddenly she found a world of more pleasant things to consider. None of those included what he did next.

Thomas Light pulled away from his assistant, his friend, and his love, and chuckled nervously.

Vanessa folded her arms and gave him a look. "All right, Tom. What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking about this a lot lately. More than the Network, even. Somehow, the time never seemed right to do this…until now."

Not quite sure of himself, but putting himself on the line all the same, Tom dug in his pocket. His blue eyes stayed away from her emerald ones as he spoke. "I wanted there to be nothing else left, or in the way when I did this."

Vanessa blinked. "What are you saying, Tom? When you did what?"

It was one of those moments that he would recall years later, when he was old and tired and needed a moment, a truly happy moment that had no other attachments to taint the joy. Until the day that Dr. Light would die, he swore he would always remember this.

Out of a pocket of his white laboratory coat, the head of the communications department pulled out a small velvet-lined box. He snapped it open to reveal the glimmering treasure within; a three carat engagement ring.

If Vanessa had gasped any louder, she was certain it would have come out as a scream. She knew perfectly well that her hands didn't drop down to her waist of their own accord. But looking wasn't enough; she looked into his eyes, moving her head slowly, looking for the confirmation that her heart already knew existed.

"I know, without a single doubt, Vanessa, that you make me happy." Tom said, his usually strong voice now shaky. "I know that the way I feel when I'm with you is like nothing I've ever had before…and that I can't go without it. I also think you feel the same way about me. And even if it is a little old-fashioned, I knew that I had to ask you…if you would stay by my side, no matter what. So with all of that said, Vanessa Tercel…Would you marry me?"

Tears misted up in her eyes, and Vanessa suddenly found that she'd lost any ability to produce sound. Long seconds passed where she could do nothing else but stare, try to speak, and then failing that, give her answer with nod after nod of her beautiful face and cascading blond hair.

To punctuate it, her phone rang. Tom, smiling as he reached to put the ring on her finger, spoke up. "You might want to answer it. That's Lisa's ring, after all."

Vanessa waited until the engagement ring was on her right hand, then finally picked up the phone, putting it on speaker. "H…Hello?" She asked.

_"Vanessa, I've got a few more additions for the wedding to go over with you, if you've got a spare moment." _As always, Lisa was micromanaging everything.

Vanessa looked to Tom, who beamed all the more, then spoke. "It might have to wait for a bit, Lisa…Tom's proposing to me."

There was a delay of several seconds before the fiancée of Dr. Light's friend Rick Williamson spoke up again. _"I hope you're saying yes!"_

Vanessa set the phone aside and took Light's hand in hers. "I was just about to." She answered slyly, walking towards the far end of the communications department. Tom blinked a few times, resisting slightly, until he realized that his makeshift bedroom was at the far end. At that point, it became a race with both parties laughing, him tickling and her avoiding.

To her credit, Lisa stayed on the line for a full two minutes before finally realizing _how_ Vanessa was saying yes and hung up.

Very little else got done that day. But as Tom and Vanessa would both agree…

There was only one project left which mattered. And they had finally passed it.

* * *

_3:15 P.M._

"Director Simdorn, sir?"

The leader of the Institute looked up from his display console. His personal secretary stood in the door of his private office, looking slightly nervous. "You…have some visitors, sir." The male secretary even bit his lip. Not a good sign. He almost never got unnerved.

Randall Simdorn took off his glasses and frowned. "It's just been one unpleasant surprise after another today. I'm assuming that our guests are…?"

"They're from the government."

Simdorn kept himself from wincing. "Looks like I was right. Well, send them in."

A threesome of FBI agents, replete with black suits, dark sunglasses, and earpiece communicators, strolled into Simdorn's office. The one in front looked around for a while, then offered a curt nod to the head of the Institute. His black hair was trimmed short and flat; indicative of a military background. "Director Simdorn?" The Director nodded back exactly once. "I'm Agent Walters, Federal Bureau of Investigation." He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing penetrating brown eyes. He also flipped out his badge, so casually that Simdorn only got a cursory glance at it.

"Congratulations." Simdorn replied, leaning forward onto his desk. Neither he nor the FBI agent bothered to offer a handshake; it suited the both of them that way.

Agent Walters nodded to his cohorts. "Lead the search operations." His two associates disappeared without a word.

Simdorn cracked his knuckles, a throwback to his days of youth. "I don't recall giving you permission to search the Institute."

"I never had to ask for it." Agent Walters replied.

"I don't appreciate your methods, sir."

"Whether you like them or not, they are still necessary." Agent Walters was all business, both in posture and tone. Even had Simdorn offered him a chair, the director got the impression he preferred to stand; it gave him a more authoritative posture. "By now, you must have heard about Wily."

"I know you're looking for him." Simdorn kept his wall up. "What I don't know is _why_. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

The Agent's face was a mask. "I am afraid that that information is classified. All I can tell you is that Dr. Wily must be retrieved, because he's become a threat to national security."

Simdorn crossed his arms. "I see. And what makes you believe that he's here?"

"Basic detective work. He'll likely run to a familiar place, and this is one of four locations our background check redflagged. Has anybody had contact with Dr. Wily in the last month?"

Simdorn kept a grim expression. "I'm afraid that that information is classified." The turn of phrase did little to improve Agent Walter's mood, and the two stared each other down. Simdorn finally relented with a snort. "Nobody's heard anything about Dr. Wily in a year, much less talked to him. You can thank whatever hole his work took him to; he just dropped off the radar of everybody who he used to work with." Agent Walters opened his mouth to protest, and Simdorn cut him off. "You don't believe me? Ask anybody here, they'll tell you the same thing."

"My team and I will do just that." Walters growled. "And you might want to remind everybody on your staff here that withholding information about a wanted man is a criminal offense, punishable by no less than two years in federal prison."

Simdorn rose to his feet, propping his body on his desk-resting fists. "I also know that it's against Bureau policy to badger innocent witnesses. You might want to remind your people of that."

Agent Walters stared at Simdorn with his brown eyes for several more moments before putting his sunglasses back on. "We'll be in touch."

Simdorn waited until the last agent was gone, and then triggered his intercom. "Daniel, get me the robotics department."

The connection took only two seconds to ring, and Simdorn picked up his phone. "Must have put them on speed dial this morning." He mused, making a mental note to compliment his secretary. Daniel was young, but sharp as a tack.

Frank picked up the line. "That you, Randy?"

"I just had a visit from some FBI agents." Simdorn announced, leaning back in his chair. "Chances are that you'll have some visitors soon."

"Joy." Frank mumbled. "What do you want us to tell them?"

Director Simdorn actually felt a vein throb above his eye. "The truth, Frank. You'll tell them the truth."

"That we haven't seen Wily in ages?"

"That's the truth, isn't it?" Simdorn answered. "But if they get grabby with your equipment, or anything else in that department, you tell them to shove off. Wily took everything of his when he left a year ago. Whatever it is they're looking for, they won't find it in what's left. Got that?"

"Ten-four, chief." Frank agreed. "They won't be happy about it."

"Then tell them to come talk to me, and I'll remind them about a few rules written in the Constitution. Including the Fourth Amendment."

"That wouldn't happen to be the one that says they'd need a warrant to seize Institution records and files, would it?"

"One and the same, Frank. One and the same." Simdorn put his phone back on the hook and let out a long breath. He sat only for another fifteen seconds before standing up and walking for the door. Chances were good that he'd be needed down in the robotics department soon enough.

A part of him was angry at the system for deciding that the Institute suddenly fell under more centralized jurisdiction. He'd spent too many years keeping it free of that level of control to lose it now.

In the same moment, though…

A part of him was angry at Dr. Wily for bringing all of this down on them.

Whatever it was Wily had done.

* * *

_Just outside of Dr. Light's apartment_

_5:30 P.M. _

A pair of unmarked black sedans pulled up to the small residential complex five miles outside of Redmond's urban fringe. They kept the engines running, and two men emerged from each. Two more still waited in the front of both vehicles; they had come in a squad of four.

Their instructions were cursory, their actions quickened. The residence of Dr. Thomas X. Light had been listed as a very faint 'possible' by their research: Wily had talked infrequently about the strange genius, but always with a fair level of scorn. There was no love lost between the two, but it was worth checking out. They went and knocked on his door, and then finding no one home, sought out the door of the apartment manager.

Would the matron of the establishment allow the federal agents to take a look around Light's home? Of course, came the surprised and flustered reply from the woman in her moo-moo and curlers. Then there was the inevitable question; Was Dr. Light in trouble?

No trouble, they told her. They were looking for somebody else entirely, and just wanted to see if Dr. Light had been in contact with him recently. None of their expressions were all that reassuring, and she suddenly found more important things to do than hang about during their investigation.

They were still looking about when Dr. Light and Vanessa drove up in her car.

Tom was the first out of the car door, pulling his sunglasses off and frowning at the display. "Oh, for the love of…Now they're even checking our homes?!"

Vanessa walked around the car and put a hand on his shoulder. "They shouldn't be doing this."

"They won't be, soon enough." Dr. Light reassured his new fiancée.

One of the agents walked over to them. "Are you Dr. Thomas Light?"

"I am." The brown-haired scientist nodded. "Do you mind telling me what exactly you're doing foraging around in my home without a warrant?"

"As per your terms of residency, you are renting an apartment. We only needed permission from the apartment manager." The agent answered matter-of-factly. Light's face darkened. That was either a new trick from the Internal Defense Act of 2030 or something older which the IDA had made easier. "Similar searches are being conducted at the Institute and several other probable locations throughout the country."

"What made you think Wily would turn up around here?" Light prodded tersely. "We weren't friends."

"You knew each other. According to the information we were given, he spoke highly of you on several occasions."

"If he did, he wasn't one to show it." Light snapped. "Dr. Wily and I may have got along at first, but the Contest of 2039 changed whatever association we had for the worse. Believe me, this is the last place Wily would run to. He knows I'd deck him before he could utter a sentence."

The agent, for a change, seemed honestly surprised. Light's words and inflection seemed genuine enough. "So you have not…"

"Christ, what's wrong with you people?!" Light blasted. _"Nobody has heard from Wily in a year!!" _

Being careful not to flinch, the agent assumed a neutral posture and nodded. "Very well. However, if you should remember something, however insignificant, you will…"

"Get out of my apartment." The good doctor growled. "He wasn't here, and he won't be here. And that's all."

The agent jotted a few notes down on his digital notepad and nodded respectfully. "Have a good day, sir. Ma'am."

He went back to his car, and the rest of the agents came out of Light's apartment, following suit. The two unmarked black sedans roared off down the country road the way they'd come, little more than kicked up dust and sour memories.

"I'm sorry, Tom." Vanessa offered. "This shouldn't have happened…"

"Things happen." He interrupted, stopping the cycle with a sigh. "What matters is how we deal with them. I'd best get in there and see how badly they tore up the place. I'm probably going to have to spend all night putting things back the way they were."

"It's not right." Vanessa insisted. "These aren't the kind of tactics that the FBI are supposed to use! It's…it's too Gestapo!"

"I don't think those men were from the FBI, love." Tom noted. He kissed her on the forehead. "At least we weren't there when it happened."

"Maybe we should have been." She pulled him into another embrace, then pressed her forehead against his. "I guess this ruins our plans for tonight."

"As much as I'd love to, I don't think I'm in the right mindset to christen our approaching union." Tom offered sadly.

Vanessa gained a foxlike grin in her eyes. "Funny, I think that's exactly what we did earlier today." She kissed him again, then pulled away. "Call me later, all right?"

"I will." He promised. "If only to let you know how bad the damages are. At least the Network protocols are safe." He patted his pocket, and the portable drive that contained the gigabytes of program that would allow the Network to become reality. "I'll go into the Institute early tomorrow to make a second backup, and start on the final project setup."

Vanessa smiled and gave her head a shake. "Oh no you don't. This time, Tom, I'm not letting you work yourself to the bone. I'll go in early. You sleep in for a change…just be sure to bring the coffee, all right?"

Dr. Thomas Light flashed a winning smile to his love and confidante. "It's a deal."

She waved one last time, climbed back in her vehicle and drove off back towards Redmond, leaving Light with the daunting task of cleaning up his apartment. He was pleasantly surprised to find that they hadn't really sifted through his documents; his answering machine had been given a once-over, and they'd glanced through his E-Mails, but they hadn't touched his password-locked program files.

To their credit, at least, they'd been honest; they were only looking for Wily.

The search through the apartment had been rigorous; no possible hiding spot had been left undisturbed, and there were clothes and jackets and cleaning supplies from cabinets and closets tossed about, with no regard for order or restoration. That had taken the longest.

That, and whipping up a new batch of iced tea. They'd drank all he'd had.

All in all, it took him almost two hours to put things back to rights, and then, finally, he was able to turn his attention towards thoughts of dinner.

With spaghetti on the mind, he dumped a package of the stringy noodles into a pot of boiling water and went back to stirring his homemade tomato sauce. In the middle of his third spicing and stirring, the buzzer went off.

Light rolled his eyes. It wasn't Vanessa, he knew that much. More than likely, it was another government agent, just making sure that nothing had changed. "It's just not looking good for them at all." He exhaled, pulling the tomato sauce off of the burner. He could leave the noodles to boil a while longer.

He marched towards the door, intent on giving the agent a piece of his mind. When he opened it though, all his prepared speech was thrown out of the window. It wasn't another government agent who stood there in the waning hours of daylight.

Instead, a disheveled, weary, and mustache-less Dr. Albert William Wily stood on his doorstep.

"Albert…" Light managed to eke out, wondering at that moment, if his chances of winning the lottery had just increased. The odds appeared to be stacking in new ways today.

Dr. Wily, far worse for wear than when Dr. Light had last seen him, managed a weak smile and a wave. "_Hallo, Honig. Was ist für Abendessen_?"

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Director Simdorn's Office_

_7:45 P.M._

The E-Mail he'd received two and a half hours ago remained on his viewscreen, hanging in a three-dimensional representation of a sea of data. He didn't bother to move his mouse cursor over to read it. He'd done that a half dozen times already. Another time wouldn't change a thing.

Agent Walters strolled into his office, looking slightly apologetic, but not nearly enough for what had happened. "I didn't think I'd find you here this late at night."

"This was my home for almost three decades."

"Was?" The FBI frontman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Director Simdorn rose from his chair and walked over to his window, looking out over the rest of the Institute. "You know, when the sun sets here, it catches the white stonework just perfectly. For a while, it's like this place actually glows in twilight." He set his arms behind his back and smiled. "I wonder if it will still glow after all of this."

Walters glanced over to Simdorn's monitor. "I see you've read the message, then."

"I've read it several times, but you've managed to get your airtight _carte blanche_. That's the long and short of it."

"The FBI is merely putting the Institute on observational status until this matter with Dr. Wily is resolved." Walters explained, trying to pacify Simdorn's anger.

"Observational status also includes agents stationed in nearly every part of this facility all of the time, complete oversight of all communications, and the loss of what made this place able to create the miracles it did; freedom." Simdorn added bitterly. "I also saw the addendum. The robotics department is going to be incorporated into the military oversight program." He turned and leveled a dark gaze on the agent. "Your doing?"

Walters shook his head. "I did not know about that. The FBI doesn't have that jurisdiction. We're merely looking for an escaped felon…"

"Oh, so he's a felon now, is he?" Simdorn interrupted. "Well, what exactly did he do? Kill someone?"

"I told you before, I can't…"

"Can't tell me because it's vital to national security." Simdorn concluded, cutting the man off again. Walters made a point of flexing his hand into and out of a fist; he was growing tired of Simdorn's attitude, and wanted the Director to know that. Simdorn apparently was unimpressed by the display, and turned away from the window.

"Just so you know, almost all of the staff in the robotics department are already tendering their resignations. They haven't had any part in Wily's business in a year, and they won't have any part of whatever it is the government's planning now."

"That is their decision to make." Walters shrugged. "I suppose they'll be pleading the fifth?"

"They told you the truth today, sir. It was your choice not to believe them."

Walters folded his arms. "Well, then I have nothing else to say to you, it would seem."

"Oh, but I have one last thing to say to you." Simdorn finished, walking over to his coatrack in the corner of the room. "I've sent out an E-Mail to everybody at the Institute, informing them that I'm retiring, effective immediately."

"…What?"

Simdorn slipped on his brown corduroy overcoat and nodded. "I was always proud to work at the Institute. People came here because they believed they were helping out this country, coming up with new inventions and ideas to benefit society. More importantly, since there were never any formal ties with the government, those of us who were bleeding heart liberals could always take solace in the fact that we weren't a part of the problem, we were the solution."

Next came Simdorn's hat, which nested on top of his thinning gray hair perfectly. "But it seems that the powers that be have found the perfect excuse to finally pull this place into the tangled web. This isn't my home anymore. A lot of other people are surely going to follow after they see my letter. So I can offer you congratulations, Agent Walters. Starting tomorrow, you will be in charge of a tomb."

Agent Walters stood stock still, not quite sure what to say to the now former Director of the Institute. Simdorn sidled up next to him, and stared straight ahead. He refused to look into Walters' eyes. "I'll let you lock up the place. It's yours now, after all."

Dr. Randall Simdorn left the Institute the same way he'd come in; with his principles intact. Even as he walked out of the door, the Agent still didn't know what to say. It pained him to let the belligerent scientist have the last word, but he did anyway.

Inside his heart, the FBI agent felt he'd won some small moral victory in not speaking when bullish pride demanded it.

* * *

_Dr. Light's apartment_

_7:59 P.M._

Wily pushed his empty plate away to the middle of the table and let out a long sigh. _"Danke, Tomas."_

Light, who had kept silent for the course of dinner, continued to observe his former rival. Wily seemed thinner somehow. He was still just as worn out, but some of the color had returned to his eternally pale pallor, taking him from ghost to ghoul.

Dr. Light lifted up the strainer. "More?" He asked. Dr. Wily waved him off.

"Three's my limit."

"I was wondering if you'd ever stop." Thomas Light said, leaning back in his chair. The two scientists' eyes met, and the unspoken question crossed between them.

"I suppose I've got some explaining to do. Especially if you're going to help me." Wily began cautiously.

"I'm not even sure if I shouldn't just turn you in. Jail time for harboring a felon isn't exactly a vacation."

"Jiminy Christmas, is that what they're saying?" Wily grumbled, scratching his growing bald spot.

"We had FBI agents at the Institute today. And about two hours ago, there were some unidentified agents sweeping my pad."

Wily nodded solemnly. "I saw them come. Ended up hiding in the treeline until they took off."

Light's eyes narrowed. "So you saw everything, then?"

Dr. Wily took in a deep breath, considering what to say. "Yes. So…you and Vanessa. I suppose I could say that I saw that coming. How long has that been going on?"

"It got serious about two months ago. I proposed to her today."

Wily looked stunned for a change, and actually cracked a smile. "Well, I'll be. Congratulations."

Light folded his arms. "You actually sound like you mean that."

Wily stopped smiling, as if a painful memory had struck him. "…A lot can happen in a year, Tom."

"Like you mysteriously disappearing. Just what exactly happened with you?"

"You're a genius, Tom. You're telling me you can't figure it out?"

"I didn't realize we were on a first name basis again." Light argued. "But I suppose that you were put into some classified project. Nobody knew where any of you were."

"That's the way they wanted it." Wily picked up his plate and took it over to the sink. "Senator Graystone and some government agents—I don't know what branch, exactly—took us to the middle of the Mojave, dumped us on an old "Re-commissioned" army base, and told us to get to work on building the QB-Ms. Oh, we had our fair share of luxuries, but we were surprised when we were told to remove the Bipedal Drive as standard equipment. The people who were considered our superiors still had us keep it programmed into the Kewbees, which alleviated some of our fears. For a while, the rest of the team I fooled ourselves into believing that they simply didn't want to show off the best abilities until after the sell…but the International Contest came and went, and even after countries started ordering them on the "Goodwill" plan for free, the Kewbees were restricted to all four legs."

"We watched your demonstration live when it happened. That threw me, too."

Wily turned on the faucet and washed his plate. "The contracts poured in from all over the world. They wanted the Kewbees in Africa for rescue operations in diamond mines. They needed them in Europe for bomb detection and disposal, among other things. Russia bought a whole slug of them, as did China, for their militaries; Near as we figured, for scouting and recon. We made the QB-M a versatile, rugged little mechanoid, and even though our project didn't win, countries still came for their first free set…with the promise of later actual purchases."

"It sounds like you had yourself a tidy little operation. None of this explains why you're suddenly the most wanted man in the country."

Wily turned off the water and set his plate down to dry. He lingered over the sink, almost savoring the moment. "I missed the little things like this." He started softly. "The place never had a homey touch. For a while, we were willing to put up with the conditions. It was for a good cause, after all, and the QB-Ms weren't going to make themselves…but eventually, there were people on my team who started panicking. People with families, with wives and husbands. People who suddenly found our paradise was actually a prison."

He turned about, and Light saw that the lines on Wily's face were growing more pronounced. "They wouldn't let us call friends or family, or mail them, or have any communication at all. We were restricted to the base. They'd bring us whatever we wanted, except for the one thing we all realized had been taken away from us; our freedom." He bit his lip for a moment and pointed a finger at Light. "And for a change, Tom, stop acting so incredulous. The United States has been running black operations since at least World War II. They're quite good at it, and I'd appreciate a little candor on your part."

Light shrugged his shoulders. "I'm trying, Albert, but you have to admit this sounds a little unbelievable. Why exactly, would they keep you all locked up in the middle of a desert?"

"Because they needed us, and they needed us quiet." Dr. Wily growled. "They needed the Kewbees, and only we could make them to the specifications they needed. Once we started to resist…"

Wily put a fist to his forehead, and bared his teeth. "They killed Morrison."

Light snapped up straight in his chair; he knew Morrison, from Vanessa's reminiscing. He'd been a very quiet and friendly fellow; what he lacked in raw talent, he had made up for in tenacity.

"How?" Light asked, after the shock had worn off.

"They didn't do it right in front of us. One day, he was there with the rest of us, and the next, he was gone. They came back a few days later and said they'd found his dried out body ten miles away in the desert." Wily gave his head a shake. "They knocked down two birds with one stone. He'd been the loudest voice of dissent in our ranks, and afterwards, the rest of us pretty much gave up on thoughts of escape."

Light waited before speaking. "If what you're saying is true…something tells me he didn't just decide to go for a stroll in the Mojave."

"Morrison was dependable. He didn't risk his neck on crazy ideas. No, they killed him. They thought we settled down because we realized there was no way out. The truth was we settled down…so they'd stop watching us as closely."

Wily dug inside his coat pocket and pulled out a minidisk safely stored in its case. "This is why they're after me, Tom." He tossed it across the small kitchen to Light's waiting hand, and nodded. "It's got a few things on there. For now, focus on the file earmarked GAIDN."

Light blinked at it a few times, and Wily rolled his eyes. "Check it for viruses if you want. It's clean, even if the subject matter's horrifying."

Light walked over to the laptop he kept in his apartment and slid it into the reader slot. His machine beeped after a few seconds to report that the disk was clean, and he opened up the file Wily had mentioned.

It brought up a rotating display of the QB-M in Bipedal form, but shortly thereafter, Dr. Light drew in a sharp breath. He suddenly understood why the file was named GAIDN.

**Project Gaiden: Top Secret or Better Access**

**G ** **uerilla**

**A rtificial**

**I ntelligence**

**D efensive**

**N eutralizer**

"The Hell?" Light whispered, and the simulation began to run.

In place of specialized measuring equipment, it showed displays of the QB-M…Or GAIDN, as it had become, equipped with guns, knives, and every other sort of weapon imaginable.

In a side window, the mission parameters ran. **The GAIDN is designed to infiltrate civilian positions and eliminate resistance, crippling opposing forces' infrastructures from within.**

Wily waited several seconds before he elaborated. "The government had a reason for handing them out free. They _wanted_ people to use them. They wanted them to put my robots, _our_ robots, into sensitive areas." He slammed his fist angrily into the table, and all the spaghetti he'd eaten energized the rage that had been simmering for longer than Light could imagine.

Light frowned. "Hold on. Just how exactly can they transform every QB-M on the planet into a weapon? Once they left, you had nothing more to do with them."

Wily gave his head a shake. "I wish that was the case. But every Kewbee we sent out had the option of receiving lifetime firmware updates; more streamlined command programming, extra features. Fully 90 of all the mechanoids we built for the government…has been receiving those." He tucked his head into his hands. "And then one day, another member of my team uncovered a very specific update. That's why I escaped, Tom…Because I have to stop it."

Dr. Light stroked his chin. "This update…will transform them all?"

"Worse." Wily added miserably. "Not only does it realign the Bipedal Drive and install combat algorithms, courtesy of the military…But it also throws in a Master Control command. All they have to do is flip the switch, and the GAIDN series activates…under their control."

Wily staggered out of his seat and leaned against the table, staring at his fellow genius. "I need your help, Tom. I have to stop the GAIDNs from activating, but I can't do it alone."

Thomas Light frowned. "Albert, I'm not a hacker."

"I don't need a hacker." Wily pointed out, a glimmer of hope shining in his eye. "What I need…is a programmer."

He let it sink in for a moment, and then fell back into his seat. "The hacking, I can do. I can access the QB-M firmware mainframe covertly, if I route a signal through a few hundred communications satellites and the Institute network. What I can't do is build the program code which will disengage the Master Control command."

Light, chancing a sour look, stated the obvious. "You want _me_ to write the update program, don't you?"

"This is no longer about what I want, or how I've hurt you, or hurt feelings!!" Wily nearly screamed. "This is life or death, Tom! Help me, and we can prevent a catastrophe. Or turn me in…And God help us all."

Dr. Light took another long look at the data in front of him, and gave Wily another suspicious glance.

"I've run across ten states, escaped countless manhunts, and lived in paranoid fear for more than a week now." Wily added shrewdly. "And if I have to go it alone, I'll go it alone. But I'd much rather have your help on this."

"Why me?" Light asked. "Outside of the whole "They'd never suspect my old rival" thing?"

"Because I know your true potential, and I have more respect for you as a fellow scientist and inventor than you'll ever know." Dr. Wily concluded gravely. "And right now, when I need a miracle, I'll look for help with a miracle worker."

Thomas Light mulled it over for a while, then finally sighed and shook his head. "You really made a mess of things. Fine."

Wily slumped into his chair, relieved all over again. "My thanks."

"Don't thank me yet." Dr. Light barked, shutting down the GAIDN simulation and opening up Wily's files. "Is the one marked UPDATES the firmware code?"

"I figured you'd need a baseline."

"Well, if I wanted to get it done in twelve hours, yes." Light replied, yawning. He winced and looked to his former rival. "We're going to have a long talk after this is over with…provided we're not both in prison by then."

"Anything you want."

"And you're doing the dishes. Brew up a pot of coffee while you're at it. We'll need it to make it through tonight."

Wily made a face while he stacked the plates. "Tom, you know I don't drink coffee."

"Now's the perfect time to start." Dr. Light snapped back.

For a change, Dr. Albert Wily merely gave a resigned nod.

* * *

_Several Hours Later_

Already on his sixth cup of java, Dr. Light risked a glance from his screen. He wasn't surprised at all to see Albert Wily slumped sideways on the living room couch, dead to the world and softly snoring.

Light smiled sadly and looked back to his screen. _Poor bastard probably hasn't gotten a decent stretch in days. We'll let him sleep then. God knows he deserves it._

He'd been suspicious of Wily's story at first…but he'd checked the registry and base code of the documents. Even a genius like Wily couldn't have faked those documents. That was the most frightening thing of all, that it was all true. But that was how things worked…

The truth was always more terrifying than the lie.

He rubbed at his eyes and let off a yawn. "I should be getting to bed myself." He finally mumbled, freezing and shaking his head when he looked at the clock. "On second thought, I was getting up in thirty minutes anyhow."

At least, he thought to make himself feel better, the update program Wily had wanted him to make was close to ready. There had been several options they'd thought of to combat the master control command; having the firmware update sever the KB-Ms from the server so they couldn't become GAIDNs, retrofitting a computer virus designed to destroy the connection protocols…

In the end, though, none of those options would work. For better or worse, the KB-Ms were active and about, and to destroy any part of their capacity would certainly cause harm as well; Less than every single one of the Kewbees being turned into warmachines, to be sure, but there would still be damage done. As Wily insisted, they had to choose the cleanest option.

The only choice they had after all that deliberation was to make their firmware update aligned in such a way that it would not accept the future installation codes that would prep them for takeover. In biological terms, instead of cutting off the thing's head so it couldn't hear anything at all, Light's program would act as selective earplugs, blocking out only the update containing the master control program and Bipedal Drive re-alignment.

Light finished dashing in the last few lines of code, saved the file, and set the compiler to run.

He closed his eyes and waited.

No warning beep came.

The fake update was ready.

Somewhere in his weary thoughts, Dr. Thomas Light wondered if he had just saved the world. Such notions, however, faded quickly for the unconsciousness of dead sleep.

He never even suspected he'd dozed off.

* * *

_Jerusalem, Israel_

_Just Outside of Temple Mount (The Dome of the Rock)_

_May 23__rd__, 2040 C.E._

_4:20 P.M. Local Time_

It was considered to be the modern era. Technological marvels seemed to be erupting every day, and it seemed that something new popped up every day. Even so, there were some places where time's effect was not quite so noticeable.

Ibis-Al Hamal walked the streets of Jerusalem, his facial hair shaven clean, wearing a business suit not too outlandish to be noticed, with a briefcase in his right hand.

Some places hadn't changed for a very long time, and Jerusalem, which was a hotbed of violence and had been for decades…if not centuries…Wore the same face as it always had.

Today, though, Jerusalem would change. Today, Hamal told himself with that quiet determination only a non-conflicted spirit had, nobody could ever again say that the world had not changed.

Ever since the United Nations had created the Jewish state of Israel out of Palestine, little had run in the desert country except blood. Diplomats had tried, and failed, since the days of Ralph Bunche, to help the Palestinians and Israelis settle their differences and co-exist peacefully.

For decades, they had tried. For decades, violence and trauma had plagued their little corner of the world. Neither side could be happy, as long as the other claimed ownership, as long as neither side backed down. Neither side would, for neither side could.

Pride, and a misguided belief in divine affiliation had doomed any effort before it had ever begun. Jerusalem remained, always and forever, the one sore spot and undefinable issue, the one problem which would never go away.

Perhaps Ibis-Al Hamal was mentally unbalanced, or perhaps he was guided, as he believed, by the hand of Allah. The time for talk was ended. Long ended, for such efforts had frustrated his father and grandfather when he was but a child, and he could clearly imagine a world much later on where the bickering remained. Islam had its Mecca, Christianity the Vatican, and Judaism…well, perhaps Judaism had no other place, in the end it could turn to.

For all three, Jerusalem was the beginning, and to some, the end.

_The end indeed. The end of the world as it is…and the beginning of something different. Maybe not better…but _different.

He would not doubt the righteousness in his cause. All of the power, the wealth, the life of his group called the Prophet's Wings had gone into this one and final mission. Ordinarily, one would think that such a cell of believers would wish to endure, but Ibis had reminded them that there would be nothing else for them to do when he was done.

The old stories, lies, truly, of countless virgins waiting for him at the gates of heaven may have been false, but Ibis had crafted his own definition of the afterlife from intensive study and self-reflection. Perhaps there would be no one waiting for him when he perished except his persecutors, and perhaps he would be damned for betraying the teachings of peace. Perhaps the zealots were right, and in the midst of the eternal _Ji'had, _there was a place for his righteous sacrifice to the cause.

Another man came up to him, pleasant, cheerful…Israeli, Ibis noted. He said something in a language that Ibis couldn't place, and discerned only as Hebrew. Ibis smiled politely, like a viper to the mongoose, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," He clipped in slightly accented English, "I am from Turkey." That wasn't the truth, of course, but Turkish descent raised less alarm flags to the average person.

"Aah." The man said back in English, nodding his head. "I apologize. Have you come to see the sights?"

Ibis smiled again, and gave his head a shake. "No. I have come to say farewell."

The man blinked curiously, examining the would-be tourist in the middle of the Temple Mount. "Farewell? Are you going away someplace?"

"We all do, in our own time." Ibis-Al Hamal mused.

There was no sorrow, no rapture, no fanaticism in his voice. Only a quiet acceptance, and the resolution that came with it, offered any clue to his plans.

"But, perhaps it is good that I came here." He added, for afterthought's sake.

"Why is that?"

"Because, I was able to meet you." Ibis offered the fellow one conciliatory nod. "Someone who will stand by me in this place when a miracle happens."

Now, the Israeli grew suddenly suspicious, thinking him either mad, or worse, psychotic. "What kind of a miracle could happen here?"

"The world is fat and asleep." Ibis said gently, undoing the combination lock on his briefcase and opening it up. Too late, the man saw the bomb within; explosives hedged around a central device, which even a high-school physics student could recognize.

Too late, did he see the detonator, which Ibis pulled out and held in his hand; a simple silvery cylinder with only a red button. In a different time, the Israelite might have laughed at how simple his destruction was. As it was, he only stared, aghast, as the man who had claimed to be a tourist became a destroyer instead.

"Today…the world wakes up." Ibis hissed triumphantly. He pressed the detonation switch, and the explosives within the suitcase exploded. Mercifully for the Israelite who had been there only to offer prayers, he was dead before the secondary, and true explosion, occurred.

For two and some miles about what had once been the Temple Mount, everything was smashed to dust under the power of an unleashed sun. Holy ground became as glass, and the sky was brighter than any creature had ever fathomed it could be.

Beyond the radius, an atomic shockwave shuddered and cast away everything in its path. Too late to be stopped, but too clearly to be forgotten, a billowing mushroom cloud filled the skies above.

Jerusalem had survived thousands of years. It had seen empires rise and fall, people live and die, and yet the city always remained, in one form or another.

It died with a whimper, believing that at last, Armageddon had arrived. Like everything that was human, or was touched by human hands, it crumbled and became as the sands all about it.

And the world, as if acknowledging Ibis-Al Hamal's words…Finally woke up.

* * *

_The Island of Mykonos_

_Oliver Xanthos' Residence_

_Some minutes later_

Jessica Bravewind burst through the door, her face serious as stone and just as hard. Oliver glanced up from his newspaper and coffee with a curious, alert glance. Not even his private secretary would enter his chambers so rudely without good cause.

He set down the newspaper, pushed his cup and saucer away from the tables' edge, and assumed the mantle of Mr. X with a sigh and a blink. "What is it, Jessica?"

"I'm here to escort you to the _Socrates_, sir." She said crisply. "As per your standard operating procedures."

His full attention turned grimly inquisitive. "What has happened?"

She walked to his closet and pulled out his overnight bag, fully packed and ready as always. "A while ago, a communication from our contacts in Jerusalem was disrupted. We have not been able to establish a line with anyone in Israel since then, either." She paused, considering the best way to state the dread truth.

It passed on, and she gave a dismissive shake. "Come on. The captain has the engines on idle, off in Cyclades territorial waters. We'll have to take your private speedboat."

Oliver dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and stood up, ready to move. "So the communications arrays are down in Israel?"

"No." Jessica murmured, already halfway out the door with Mr. X fast on her heels. "Jerusalem no longer exists."

If it had not been for Jessica's sharp order to continue moving, Mr. X would have remained frozen on the spot of floor where he stood.

* * *

_Outside of Redmond, Washington_

_The Residence of Dr. Thomas Light_

_May 23__rd__, 6:07 A.M._

A sharp nudge in his side caused Light to wake up with a shuddering snort, and sleep-covered eyes snapped fully open. "I'm awake, what?" He mumbled, still groggy.

His vision focused on Dr. Albert Wily, who was sitting in front of his computer on one of the stools from the kitchen. Light looked down, and found he was still in his own chair…only pushed away.

Wily retracted the yardstick, not once breaking his gaze from the monitor. With one hand, he was rapidly typing in keystrokes. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a frenzy in his gaze, as if he'd never slept in the first place.

Light rubbed at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"About one hour and twenty minutes since you went to sleep. I think I got about two hours." Wily answered. The fatigue his strained face made clear didn't sink a bit into his tone. He laughed mirthlessly and gave his head a sorrowful shake. "I'm beginning to think insomnia's my natural state."

Dr. Light shrugged off the last of his weariness once he smelled coffee. "Did you brew a fresh pot?"

"I think the stuff might be growing on me." His former nemesis remarked, motioning ever so slightly with his head down to the computer desk. A host of discarded paper cups lay strewn about, each with only coffee stains to evidence their use. "There should be enough left for a cup or two out there…" He blinked a few times and paused at his typing, then rolled his eyes and muttered an oath in German. "Well, one, at least. Sorry."

"If you needed it, it's all right." Light stretched out his arms and rose up, finding his body sore. He winced. "That's the last time I sleep in my chair. Why couldn't you sleep? You look worse now than you did last night."

"Time started moving again." Wily answered, bitterness in his words. He motioned to the TV across the living room. It was on and turned to CNN, but the volume was muted. "You finished the program before you crashed. I'm grateful, but that only bought us a small advantage. We have to hurry while we can. They just turned Jerusalem into a nuclear wasteland."

Stunned, Tom turned and stared at the TV. It showed a picture from an orbital satellite; a bleak and dismal glassy crater peppered with remains at the heart of Israel. **Tragedy in the Middle East: Jerusalem annihilated by unknown nuclear device**, the bulletin crawl read.

"Who?" Light asked, when his voice returned. He turned back to Wily, terrified. "Who is they?"

The 'mad scientist' of the Institute paused at his work, and took a moment to cock his head at Light. Somehow, his black hair seemed to take on a dull gray sheen, a premonition of what was surely to come in the trying years ahead. "With nukes, Tom, does it really matter?"

Eventually, the head of the Communications department had to shake his head. It truly didn't matter who started it…But Jerusalem, of all places, annihilated…

No, the important part would be what happened next.

"I'm carving a path through the 'net as we speak." Wily said, turning back to the screen and typing faster than before. "It's amazing how many different communications satellites there are up there…how many of them you can just waltz into. It's not like the old spy movies when we were kids, when you could bounce a signal around a dozen or so and make it untraceable."

Light nodded, knowing it better than most; The true spooks, the ones so vital to national security, could hound a single ping to the ends of the earth if they wished to. He should have said something before, and he said something now.

"This won't be untraceable, you know."

"It doesn't have to be." Wily told him softly, always typing faster and faster, as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. "It just has to be obscure enough. The system gets hundreds of logins every day, from QB-Ms across the world. I know the technicians, the people watching them. Some of them are my people still. They don't even bother looking at them anymore, and those of mine who are left…should be able to distract the process. No, they don't check the incomings."

"They didn't before you left, you mean."

Wily smiled, again like a cat who knew too much. "I can do more than obscure my source…I'm obscuring the process. They would have to have somebody watching each and every single interface, and remember…they get so many of those in a day, they can't keep track of them all. A request for updated firmware has a small little piece where the Kewbee transmits its base specs to the home machine. I'm just taking advantage of the window."

Light walked into the kitchen and poured himself the last cup of coffee, not surprised to find that his hand was shaking as fast as his heartbeat. He managed to get most of it in the mug, and downed half of it after finding it close to lukewarm.

"This will work." Wily said. Light glanced back into the living room, and saw Wily looking more determined, more steadfast than he had all night. "This will work." He repeated, seemingly for Light's benefit alone. "In an hour's time, the firmware update will be sent out from the Institute network. In an hour…we'll have stopped the people in charge of GAIDN from being able to start World War III."

Wily stared at Light, almost daring him to challenge that hopeful boast. The polyglot stared back for several long seconds, then opted to neither defend nor defeat the claim.

"If you need something, let me know." Tom exhaled, turning for the hall. "I'll be in the shower."

Dr. Wily nodded quietly, and went back to work.

He still typed faster.

* * *

_Aboard the _Socrates

_The Aegean Sea_

_May 23__rd__, 2040 C.E._

_5:32 P.M._

"Militaries around the world are going on high alert." Jessica Bravewind continued, briefing Mr. X on the situation. He stood aboard the bridge of his prized (And highly illegal) hydrofoil Tri-Catamaran, amidst the crew. It was a rare sight for them to see their benefactor, but times, as all were fast realizing, were changing. "Our network is reporting minor skirmishes along the borders of highest concern."

"Any word yet on who is responsible?" The swarthy Grecian murmured, finding that his aspirin wasn't alleviating the headache he'd had for the last hour. The tensions in his face were clearly visible, and shared by every sailor on the bridge.

Only his personal secretary, Jessica, remained unfazed. That was her way, of course; she had been trained to remain cool under fire, to stay mentally and emotionally balanced regardless of the situation. What made her a perfect bodyguard now made her the solid rock upon which Mr. X now tried to measure himself to.

She checked her reports again, and shook her head. "No parties are taking credit for this."

"I doubt anybody would." Mr. X resolved, rubbing at his temples. "This is unparalleled barbarism. Whoever did this is truly monstrous. The fallout alone…There won't be a creature able to live in those lands for decades."

"If nobody takes the credit for it, then there's no way of knowing who is responsible." Mr. X glanced over to the speaker, an older gray-haired British officer. General Short, his military sub-director. "Everybody's going to start blaming their enemies."

"Perfect." Mr. X stood back up and walked over to one of the high-strength windows of the bridge. "And then the shooting starts." He stood there, looking out over the sea and mulling over the choices in his head.

Everybody on the bridge waited for a very long span of half a minute, because nobody dared to interrupt their leader. Mr. X was shrewd and calculating, and the way he held himself spoke of the thinking being done.

Only Jessica, after bearing the silence for a definition of eternity, spoke. "What are your orders, sir?"

Mr. X raised his head up ever so slightly, not breaking his gaze. "Evacuate Mykonos. Contact Elysium, and tell them to begin general operations."

A stunned shock ran through the bridge. Sensing the disturbance, X turned and looked to General Short. "Is there a problem?"

"You're…activating Elysium?" The British warrior repeated, fear in his voice. "You only said that was to be done when everything else…"

X's frown cowed him back into silence. The head of the multibillion dollar smuggling consortium left it at that, not seeing the point in explaining himself. Nobody asked further.

Miss Bravewind cleared her throat and returned back to her reports. "The explosion triggered a seismic disturbance rated at 4.8 on the Richter scale, which would put its atomic yield at slightly less than the bomb detonated at Nagasaki during World War II." She blinked, and her eyes widened ever so slightly.

Even that much of a shift in her demeanor meant mountains of shock had passed through her. Mr. X walked to her side, staring at her in trepidation. "What? What else?"

"There was a QB-M unit, owned by Jordan doing elemental surveys of the atmosphere near their border at the time of the explosion. The blast wave carried particles as far east as its location. According to their results…they detected the radioactive element responsible."

If it had been uranium, or plutonium, Mr. X knew she wouldn't have batted an eye. But she had paused and stared, and that meant…

He felt his knees go weak, and he spoke the word which would forever haunt him. "Thorium."

She nodded precisely once. Mr. X leaned against the chart table, and sunk against it not long after.

"My fault…" He stammered, slipping away from his control, from his persona of bounty, mystery, and power, and into a frightened little boy in the olive groves of his homeland. "All my fault…"

He did not feel Jessica take him by the hand, or pull him up, or walk him towards the door to take him to his cabin. He did not feel the sudden looks of horror from the faces of his officers at his meltdown, or register the unease. All he could feel was the imaginary heat of the explosion that had killed millions, and a terrible stare that came from his own eyes, envisioned in that mushroom cloud.

Jessica Bravewind opened up the door to the rest of the ship, paused, and leveled a stern gaze towards the officers under Oliver Xanthos' command. "You have your orders." She reiterated, breaking them from their stupor. "Get the rest of our people off Mykonos. Get us to Elysium."

Nobody dared move until Mr. X, babbling and lost, was completely off of the deck. Only when he had passed on, in the care of his secretary, his voice, did they wake up and begin.

The world woke up with them.


	7. Love Me Forever

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Six: Love Me Forever**

"_Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal."_

**-An Irish Headstone**

"_I do not know with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." _

**-Albert Einstein**

* * *

_The National Institute of the Sciences_

_Redmond, Washington_

_May 23__rd__, 2040 C.E._

_7:15 A.M. _

The sun was already shining brightly as Vanessa Tercel made the turn into the parking lot of the Institute. Smiling, she cut across the open lot and sat there, admiring the foliage that was only now just beginning to bloom around the building.

Her radio was turned off. She hadn't checked the news before leaving, choosing instead to watch a rerun of a cartoon she'd watched as a young girl. She had done nothing to tell her about what was happening in the world, so she had no idea of the devastation in the Middle East, and the end of Jerusalem in a nuclear fireball. She had no idea that Director Simdorn had handed in his resignation, or that he had encouraged everyone else to do the same. She would only find those things out later, when she chanced a peek from her work on the Network's next demonstration for the Contest and read the online news bulletins.

She had no idea that the world, long slumbering, was pulling itself to its feet. All she knew was that she had come early to give her future husband a chance at some much needed rest, and to put some more work into the presentation for this year's Contest.

Maybe that was the great irony that whatever entity watching it all thought of: How the world could be so horribly torn asunder in one place, and perfect as it had ever been in another.

The humor was lost on the mortals.

* * *

_Thomas Light's Apartment_

_Outside of Redmond_

"For the last time, _NEIN!!"_

"It's frigging cinnamon toast. How can you pass up on cinnamon toast?"

Wily slammed the return key hard and glowered up at Tom. "Damnit man, I'm trying to avert a major catastrophe! I don't have TIME!"

Dr. Light rolled his eyes and set the plate down beside the grumpy mad scientist. "All right. Anything else I can do to help?"

Wily kept typing. "I'm getting close to finishing up the routing for the signal, but there's a snag. I tried accessing the Institute network for the source, but I got an access denial. And no, I can't crack the encryptions on it; You remember Rockford?"

Light blinked. "The Head of the software development department?"

"Yeah. That was one project which never got put on the Contest docket. What's the access codes?"

Light frowned. "My code could get you into the dataservers for the communications department, not the robotics department."

Wily chuckled. "Oh, I can get there once I'm in."

"All right. The password's Logos."

"A classical man, I see." Wily mused, popping it in. He was met with an agreeable chirp and grinned. "Excellent. We're in. If you want to help, though, keep your eyes on the news feeds."

"Why?"

Wily kept typing. "If you see a declaration of war, then it means that I need to work faster."

Light frowned and looked at Wily's hands. They were flying over the keys, and he was barely blinking to begin with. "You can work faster?"

"They say God made the world in seven days." Wily commented grimly. "Let's see if we can't keep from destroying it in one."

* * *

_Aboard Air Force One_

_Somewhere above Colorado en route to Offutt AFB, Omaha NE_

_8:21 A.M. Mountain Time_

President Morrison sunk his head into his hands. It was too early in the day for this kind of gut-wrenching terror. The fact that his family was safely aboard and being attended to while he and his cabinet were in this emergency meeting didn't help his mood much either.

"Sir?" Secretary of Defense Winters asked.

Morrison pulled his head back up. "Yeah." He mumbled. "Go on. But start from the beginning." In a room full of gray-haired old men who considered themselves to be the runners of the free world, the truth had to be restated, if only because it differed so greatly from what they believed to be reality.

"This morning, at 7:21 Eastern Standard Time, a nuclear device was detonated at the heart of Jerusalem. It had a blast wave of approximately five miles in diameter, and Richter scale readings from the area pinpoint the yield at somewhere between 15 to 18 kilotons; a little less than the Fat Man nuclear device used at Nagasaki in World War II."

"Whose?"

SECDEF Winters blinked. "Pardon, sir?"

The President's voice was strained and cracked. "_Who_ did it?"

"Nobody is taking any credit for it yet, sir. NSA collected an intelligence report from a surveyor in Jordan: One of his Kewbees read trace amounts of Thorium in the air a few minutes after the explosion. To our knowledge, no known nuclear power uses Thorium."

"So what are we looking at?" President Morrison asked, slumping an arm on the magogany meeting table. "Was this a terrorist attack?"

Winters pursed his lips. "If it was, sir, it's an unheralded one. Jerusalem held holy sites for Christianity, Islam, and Judaism: Conventional weapon attacks happened semi-frequently, but something like this…"

One of the secure doors to the conference room opened, and every Secret Service agent in the room turned to look. They relaxed at the sight of confirmed personnel; an intelligence analyst, on loan from the NSA.

The man adjusted his glasses, looking shaky. "Mister President, there's been a development."

President Morrison cringed. He would later confess that 'development' was his least favorite word. "What is it?"

"Israel has launched a nuclear strike on Iran. They've declared war."

A secret service agent in the jet's conference center stepped up to the table beside the President and set a briefcase in front of him. It was chained to his ankle by an elastic cord.

President Morrison stared down at the deadliest, most feared briefcase ever in human history. Within were his launch authorization codes for the United States' nuclear arsenal. Even looking at it, in any role besides a usually ignored trinket dragged along by some member of his staff made his heart almost stop.

He turned to the Secretary of Defense and shook his head. "No."

SECDEF Winters frowned. "Sir, we have two major powers within the Middle Eastern sphere shooting nuclear weapons at each other. Protocol demands…"

"Bullshit." Morrison growled. "So far, all we know for sure is that Israel's fired on Iran. We don't know if that first bomb was Iranian."

"Nevertheless, standard procedures in any event where nuclear weapons are used is for all U.S. forces to go on full alert status, both local _and_ overseas. You must retrieve the codes, sir. You must open that briefcase."

The secret service agent with the nuclear football held out a key and a fob; the key for the lock on the elastic strap's lock, the fob for the briefcase. Both had to be unlocked for the codes to be accessed.

Something snapped inside of the President, and he jerked away from the table as if being by that briefcase was burning him alive. "Damnit, no!!" He bellowed, grasping for straws. "Get me Israel on the phone! And Iran!"

The NSA analyst who had come in shook his head. "We've been trying, sir. All communications to Israel have been ignored, after their first reply."

"Which was?"

"_You could not defend us. Now we will defend ourselves."_

"…Merciful Christ…" The Secretary of Agriculture uttered in horror.

"And Iran?" President Morrison pressed fearfully.

The analyst looked him straight in the eyes. "All communications have gone dead to Iran, wireless and satellite included. Even if there's anyone alive in Tehran…there's no hope of reaching them."

The SECDEF cleared his throat. "Sir. You must…"

"_The Hell I do!!" _Morrison shouted, on the breaking point. "I am not about to play this game! I am not going to take the world to the brink of nuclear apocalypse because of some kids lobbing bombs in the sandbox!!" He paced about, hands down at his sides in fists. "There must be another way. There has to be."

"…Sir…"

Morrison turned on Winters, eyes icy. "And don't you dare question whether or not I'm in possession of my faculties. Looking for another way out is the sane choice. If I were mentally incompetent, I would be opening that briefcase now. So put aside your procedures, and use that Goddamn head of yours. I need a way to stop this war before it spreads any farther, and I need it now! Somewhere, someone, something, has to be able to put an end to this madness! Think! _Think!!"_

The members of the President's Cabinet and the military aides on duty glanced at each other nervously, finding little in the way of options left to them.

Then the Director of National Intelligence, a tall and wiry man called Dran Grevis stood up from his seat and cleared his throat. "Mister President…I believe there is one option we have which might do the trick."

Every head in the room turned to look at the middle-aged spook. He straightened out his tie and nodded. "You're aware of the "Kewbee" outreach program that our government has been sponsoring for the last rough year or so, correct?"

The President nodded. "Yes…but what do a bunch of explorer robots have to do with preventing the end of the world?"

Director Grevis smiled, and there was something just mercurial enough in it to make President Morrison shiver. "Oh, they're not robots, Mister President. The proper term for them is…Mechanoids…"

* * *

_Dr. Light's Residence_

_Outside of Redmond, Washington_

"Albert?" Dr. Light began, a quiver in his voice.

Dr. Wily put off another noncommittal grunt, the most he'd said since he had set to work routing their program in the direction of the distant and incredibly secure QB/M mainframe.

"There's been a news bulletin."

Another grunt.

"Israel's forces in Tel Aviv just launched a tactical nuclear strike on Iran."

The typing ceased for two seconds, and the wild-eyed mad scientist actually blinked. _"Scheisse."_ The typing resumed.

Light's stomach felt absolutely terrible. The world was shaking itself apart around them.

"First Israel. Now Iran. Next, every developing country in Africa, Asia, and Europe's going to go off." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Can we really stop it?" Wily grunted, and Light felt a bitter thought go through him. "No, we can't. The most we'll be doing is slowing it down…or making it worse."

He shook his head. No, he couldn't sink into despondence. Neither he nor Wily had the luxury of being helpless. He had to stay focused, if only so they could stand a chance of pulling the upload off.

Light turned away from the news and went back to stare over Wily's shoulder. "How's it coming?"

Wily made his usual monosyllabic noise and left Light to his powers of observation.

Dr. Light briefly wondered what this would all look like, if their lives were being shown in a movie, or some Tom Clancy-ish video game. Wily would be sitting in front of a grand visual display of the globe, and a streaming red line would surge over the interconnected green pathways of the worldwide web. It would trace the course of Wily's Kewbee program upload from Europe to Asia, Singapore to Brazil, and back again.

As it was, there was only a screen of black, reminiscent of the now ancient DOS prompt, broken up by flashes of IP addresses, system log-ons and decryption protocols, and code which would have been gibberish to all but the most skilled technomages. And he and Wily were two of them.

He watched Wily's handiwork with a sense of pride, and also a hint of jealousy. He understood the routes Wily was taking, and his methods. If it had come down to it, he could have taken over for Albert right as he woke up. But for all his talent, there was something else in Wily's keystrokes. Embedded within the source routing, he left false trails every third or fourth switch: Anybody attempting to trace the signal would find themselves wondering if it was anywhere at all in the miasma of red herrings. It was, simultaneously, the work of a paranoid madman and the actions of a certifiable genius.

_Maybe it's true what some say. You be a genius, you have to be a little crazy._

"Almost there…" Wily murmured, breaking his unspoken vow of grunting. He was finishing up his third trip around the globe. "Losing Iran and Israel cut off my routes. I hope to Christ nobody else cuts out, or I'll have to change this all over again." He paused, then hit the enter key. "It's away."

Light blinked. All the tension, all the profound implications faded under Wily's singular statement. "That's it?" He asked.

Wily turned about in the swivel chair and looked up at his former rival. The strain of the last hour had finally begun to take its toll on his face, bringing fresh and faint wrinkles to the surface. "Yes, Tom, that's it. What did you think it would look like? Some countdown timer freezing at one second left on the clock?"

Light collapsed onto his couch, wondering if his brown hair had turned gray in the last minute. "Never mind."

"I uploaded the program to the robotics department servers at the Institute, and sent the update request from there. I figured I'd take advantage of the T1 line."

"If they trace this back to us, they'll brand us as traitors and terrorists."

Wily shrugged. "I'm already the target of a nationwide manhunt. As far as I'm concerned, they're just labels. And as for you, let me ask: Could you live with yourself, knowing you'd given a dying superpower one of the most dangerous automated weapons ever created, and that you'd done nothing to correct it?"

Dr. Light looked away. "You know I couldn't."

"Then, for better or worse, Tom, you've helped me to do the right thing."

Thomas Light looked down at his hand, and squeezed it into a fist. "I suppose I have."

Wily put his hand over his eyes and rubbed at them. "How's the world doing?"

Light looked back to the television screen. "The news channels are panicking."

The telephone rang, and both men jumped in their seats at the disturbing noise. Wily's wild eyes darted to the communication line, and Light stood up.

"Don't answer it!!" Wily shrieked. Light paused and frowned.

"Why not? It's no secret that I'm here."

Wily pulled himself from the chair and grabbed onto his arm. _"Don't."_ He begged. "Please."

It rang a few more times, and finally the answering machine picked up. _"You've got Light. Do what you need to._ **Beeeep.**"

_"Tom?! Tom, it's Vanessa. If you're still there, pick up the phone."_

Dr. Light jerked free of Wily's hold and went for the phone. "It's just Vanessa, relax already."

He picked up the receiver and turned off the answering machine. "Vanessa, what's wrong?"

_"Have you heard the news?"_

"Yes, I have." Light grimaced. "I can't believe that Israel…"

_"No, I'm not talking about that. Tom, Simdorn _quit_ last night!"_

Light turned and looked at Wily. The surprise was easily picked up by his associate, but Wily kept his mouth shut; fear, for the moment, overruled curiosity. "What do you mean, he quit?"

_"As in, the FBI handed over papers nationalizing the Institute and Simdorn quit. Hell, the robotics department's almost a tomb today. He sent out an E-Mail explaining why, and urged the rest of us to leave as well."_

"The Institute's kept itself out of the bureaucracy since it was founded. Why the Hell would the FBI…"

Light froze and did a double take. He looked at Wily.

The parts clicked.

"Wily. They're doing it because of Wily."

_"I sure would like to know what he did that got the country so damn worried about him."_

"Yeah." Light mumbled halfheartedly, preparing himself for the lie. "So would I."

_"Tom, I was going to finish up the project details this morning, but…"_

"Forget it." Thomas cut her off. "I don't think anybody at the Institute's going to get work done today. Not with everything that's going on."

_"Tom?"_

"Yes, love?"

_"I'm…" _She paused. _"I'm scared."_

"So am I." Light whispered. "Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

_"Get here soon." _His fiancée urged. _"I love you."_

"I love you too."

The line disconnected, and Light put the phone back on the hook.

"Now what the devil was all that about me?" Wily asked, when he could finally speak freely.

"The Institute's been fully nationalized."

Wily sat up a little straighter. "They wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I think they dared." Light growled. "Simdorn handed in his resignation last night. Others are following in his footsteps."

Wily leaned back in his chair and let his eyes go to the ceiling. His hands clenched and unclenched. "I never should have invented those damned mechanoids." The mad scientist breathed. "They've been nothing but trouble."

Thomas fixed his shirt and moved to the edge of the kitchen. "Maybe so, Albert, but you did. What's done is done. I think you've beat yourself up enough over it."

Wily put a hand over his eyes and laughed a little, and for a moment it seemed as though some part of his sanity had slipped away from him. "They estranged you, were taken by the government as a secret weapon wrapped in a goodwill package, and were this close to starting a war, and you think I've made full penance? _Mein gott, Thomas._ _Du verzeihst auch._"

"You think so, huh?" Thomas Light mused, giving his head a shake. "I haven't completely forgiven _you_, you know."

Wily said nothing to that barbed comment, but felt no need to argue against it. If anything, he sympathized.

Thomas stepped into the kitchen. "I'll make you some cinnamon toast before I go."

"Let me guess; you want me gone by the time you get back." Albert finally spoke, still looking up at the ceiling with his hand shading his eyes.

His counterpart jammed the toaster into action and looked back out from the kitchen. Thomas waited until Albert finally tilted his head down to look back at him.

For a moment, the weight of the world passed from one man's shoulders to another. Dr. Light shrugged his shoulders and looked away, unwilling to take any more of Wily's pain onto himself.

"I don't know what I want anymore." He answered.

* * *

_Somewhere Outside of Minneapolis, Minnesota_

_The Kewbee Operations Center_

_9: 37 A.M._

At any given time, a hundred or more Kewbee mechanoids uplinked through the internet and made a call to home. Home, for them, was the KOC, a small little operation outside of Minneapolis. In a building which resembled every other corporate multi-complex shared by many companies, the KOC was unnoticeable, which was exactly what they'd wanted.

The Kewbees would call home, asking for instructions; updates to their operating code meant to smooth their range of motion or improve processing rates.

A technician sat in front of his machine with slightly glazed eyes; watching the upgrade queue was a tedious process at best and as boring as watching fish float at its worst.

Countless IP Addresses and nationality signatures flew by, alongside the long ignored serial numbers of the Kewbee models. He brushed his hair back and refreshed the screen.

In between sips of his soda, the man blinked, and refreshed it again.

One request hadn't gone away.

"That's not right." He mumbled, shrugging off the long hours of a boring shift in a single moment of idle curiosity. Requests didn't take more than forty five seconds at most to be processed, evaluated, and answered before they disappeared and switched from connect mode to the download list.

This one, if he was right, had been there for two minutes.

He waited another thirty seconds and refreshed the list; it was still there.

"Huh. Another freeze-out." The technician muttered, typing in a command and throwing it in the direction of the paused request. The general command was one which all Kewbees had; desist the request, restart, and then try again. In cases of freeze-out, which happened either by a faulty net connection or because of a lockup in the mechanoid itself, the command was highly effective in setting them back to rights.

The restart command was ignored.

"That's not right." The Technician repeated, a little louder this time. It caught the attention of his supervisor, who strolled over and peered over his shoulder.

"Is there a problem?"

"Well, I've got a Kewbee upgrade request that won't resolve in the queue."

"Have you tried giving it the restart command?"

"Yes, sir, but the unit's not responding to it."

The supervisor frowned. "That's not supposed to happen. It must be a badly corrupted Kewbee. Give it a diagnostic request." He pulled up a chair beside the console and pulled out his laptop, setting up a similar display.

The technician frowned. "How long is it supposed to take?"

"You don't know?"

"I'm new here. I never expected to use a diagnostic this soon."

The hubbub drew the interest of others about them, and a crowd began to gather.

"The diagnostic takes about two minutes. You should have received a confirm from the Kewbee. The diagnostic takes precedence over everything; the circuits are confined so they won't freeze like the rest of its files." A helpful voice piped up.

The first technician shook his head. "No. I'm not even getting that."

Their supervisor glanced up to the crowd. "Jones, run a track on this unit. I'd like to know where it is. Lowell, I want you to try and get a peek at its vitals; what OS it's running, the last time it updated, and its history."

Two men left the crowd for their own stations and set to work, but the first technician had been pecking away on his own without orders. A sudden surprised grunt brought things back in line. "S-Sir?"

His supervisor glanced up from his laptop. "Yes?"

"I think I've figured out why it's not moving out of the request queue."

All eyes turned in his direction, and the mumbling cut off.

The supervisor felt a sudden inexplicable dread wash over him. "What is it?"

The technician brought up a small window displaying signal traffic.

The broadcast to the KOC remained steady at a constant 360 kbps. His supervisor drew in a sharp breath; that wasn't supposed to happen.

"It's not looking to download the newest parameters." The technician said, the beginnings of rage coming through. "It's uploading something to us."

Everybody reacted with startled cries and quick orders. It was a testament to the supervisor's leadership that everyone didn't bother to question what were standing orders, they just moved to their machines and started looking.

The supervisor stood back up and kept his laptop level in the crook of his arm. "All right, people. Let's do this one by the numbers." He called out. "Jones, where's this thing broadcasting from?"

The worker adjusted his glasses nervously and looked up. "The signal's been routed through every major satellite and ground hub; it'll take me a few minutes to sniff out its trail!" He turned away, and mumbled not so quietly, "If I can…"

Staving off the need to cringe, the supervisor turned about. "Lowell, what's the story?"

"I've got nothing on it, sir. Either somebody's worked very hard to rewire the Kewbee so it works anonymously, or I'm trying to stare at a ghost. The floating invisible kind."

"Chief, I've traced its upload path!" Another KOC tech cried out. "It's running code to the main program server!!"

The supervisor groaned; the worst case scenario. A hacker had gotten into what was believed to be a relatively secure system, and was moving to wreck the Kewbee command upgrades. "All right. Get ready to cut the hardline in…"

"You will do no such thing." A new voice barked out over the confusion, rendering stunned silence in the hectic room.

A young man in a brown suit stepped out of the elevator on their floor and strolled in, a dominating air in his poise and step, and a badge attached to his lapel.

Even from a distance, the KOC staff tensed up; He was a government spook. NSA.

The fellow gave them a crocodile's smile and folded his arms behind his back. "No. If you disconnect all requests from the queue, he'll know you're onto him. And you can't disconnect just him; he'll only try again."

The supervisor stepped over and sized up the man. "And you are…"

"John Smith." The NSA Agent smiled, pointing to his badge which was devoid of picture or nameplate.

"Of course you are."

"Mr. Smith" stepped around the supervisor and went over beside the technician called Jones. "Keep on the trace. He's probably going to send you around the world three times. Don't let him elude you."

"Now hold on just a damned minute!" The supervisor sputtered. "Who the Hell put you in charge?!"

The man pulled a PDA out of the interior pocket of his suit and put it in front of the KOC supervisor's eyes. It displayed a curtly worded message…on White House letterhead.

"As of seven minutes ago, the Kewbee Operations Center is under the full control and authority of the United States government." Mr. Smith said for the benefit of all present. "Now finish tracing that program."

There was terrified quiet for a bit, and then the first technician, the one who had first noticed the seemingly innocent glitch, spoke up.

"Is this because Israel got nuked?"

"Or maybe because Iran did as well." Mr. Smith added dryly. "But we won't know _who_ is doing this…for sure…until you finish that trace. So do it."

* * *

_Air Force One_

"I've got my man in place at the KOC, sir." Intelligence Director Grevis announced, his voice as smooth as mercury sliding over steel. "You've made the right choice."

President Morrison pressed his fingers together and propped his hands in front of his face. "Have I? All you've said so far is that you can avert war by militarizing the Kewbee Operations Center. So congratulations, you've done it. Now before everyone else gets wind of this and accuses me of instituting martial law, would you mind explaining why?"

"We call them Kewbees, but believe it or not, the official designation of our versatile four-legged friend is Q-B-M." Grevis went on calmly, ignoring the sharp warning look that SECDEF Winters threw at him. The President missed the movement, thanks to his undivided attention. "The acronym stands for Quadriped/Bipedal Mechanoid. They were designed by Dr. Albert William Wily at the National Institute of the Sciences last year; if you recall, that was the project we sent on to the United Nations Contest. But the version people saw were just Kewbees; cute little four-legged quadripeds. In their humanoid conversion, they walk on two legs and are capable of using a variety of tools. We purposefully buried and eliminated the Bipedal Drive from all the models we sent out around the world, but all it'd take is one update from the KOC and every Kewbee on Earth becomes something new."

The President's sense of unease deepened. "What, exactly?"

"We call it Project GAIDEN, sir." Secretary of Defense Winters announced coolly. "Guerilla Artificial Intelligence Defensive Neutralizer. Soldiers which don't get hungry, don't get cold or tired, and are completely controlled by our forces here at home. The Kewbees have been strategically placed both by our allies and our enemies to their own advantage. With one command sent out around the world, every Kewbee becomes a GAIDN…under our control, able to do what we need when and where it needs doing."

The President, and others around the table fell into a confused state of disbelief. "When did I approve that?" Morrison demanded. "Never, is the right answer! Don't you realize that what you're proposing is madness?"

"Sir, the procedure is entirely safe. The GAIDNs are hardwired to accept commands from authorized personnel—us." Grevis argued. "Besides, I would think that it is more dangerous to let the world tear itself apart. At least with the GAIDNs, we have a chance of stopping things before they escalate."

"And who gave us the authority to do something so drastic and invasive?" The Secretary of Agriculture demanded.

"The world did." SECDEF Winters snapped. "It did a hundred years ago when it turned to us to save it from the tyranny of Nazi oppression. It did again when it asked us to fight Communism in the fifty years that followed. It did so again when it asked us to defend it from the forces of religious zealotry, and again when…"

"Would you stop?" The Secretary of Agriculture scoffed. "We are not the policemen of the world, not anymore!"

"All of you, shut up." Morrison growled, silencing the interminable debate before it could completely set off. "So we have these Kewbees…and if we wanted to, we could activate them and put them to work. So what are they? Are they a first strike weapon?"

"No, sir. They're soldiers, piloted by soldiers. They are unable to start a nuclear holocaust. They do not run on nuclear power."

"Small miracles." The President rubbed at his eyes. "So what do they run on?"

"They can run on any standard electrical power cell, but those countries who could afford them opted for the longer lasting ion cells." Grevis said, checking his notes. "We estimate fully seventy percent of Kewbees around the earth could run for a duration of between one and two weeks before they would require recharge. Wily knew how to build a durable little mechanoid."

"Wily." The President murmured, wondering why the name left such an ephemeral and bitter taste on his tongue. "The same Wily wanted by the FBI?"

"One and the same, sir." Grevis confirmed with a nod. "Wily was working on the project, but he turned rogue. We suspect he's somewhere in the greater Seattle/Redmond area trying to sabotage the project."

"Why?"

"The man went mad, sir." Grevis said, so genuinely that every soul aboard believed the lie. "The FBI is still searching for him, ferreting out all possible leads…but he's a ghost."

His phone went off, and Grevis tapped his wireless earpiece. "Go ahead." He began calmly.

Grevis, as most of the other members of the President's Cabinet knew, was a man who had made a living out of being unreadable. He'd walked Congressional Budgetary hearings without batting an eye or divulging what they wanted to know.

He now raised an eyebrow and grunted, and suddenly every soul in the chamber realized something very wrong had happened.

"Stay on top of it. I'll get back to you." Grevis finished, shutting down his connection with another tap to his earpiece. He turned back to the cabinet. "My apologies, but there's been a development. Apparently as my NSA contact was assuming control of the KOC, staff technicians on duty noticed an abnormality in the Kewbee upgrade requests. One connection is apparently _uploading_ a file to the main program dispersal server as we speak."

The President swallowed. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that as of this moment, the control software in charge of overseeing Kewbee maintenance and upgrades is being hacked…presumably for the purposes of sabotage, or worse…"

His voice trailed off, and the SECDEF cleared his throat. "This is a lousy time for a dramatic pause, Dran. Get on with it."

"My contact believes that someone…possibly Wily himself…is attempting to override the Kewbees for their own ends. If that happens, then those mechanoids will be out of our control."

The President's eyes gleamed sharply. "You're a damned idiot, and if we had time, I'd ask for your ass and Winters' here on a platter along with your letters of resignation. Are you telling me that you've given someone the ability to start the same kind of conflict you built these things to prevent?"

"It would seem that way, sir." Grevis affirmed, thoroughly unruffled in spite of the severity of the crisis.

"I hope, for all our sakes, you know how the Hell to stop them."

"Rest assured, sir…" Grevis said, making sure not to look at Winters as he did so, "There are contingencies in place. But I need your approval to stop this."

"Why in the Hell would you need my approval?"

"I need _carte blanche._" Grevis elaborated, handing over his digital assistant. Waiting on it was a drawn up document offering him just such a privilege. "All it needs is your signature, sir."

The President looked down at the device with loathing. "You're not digging us a hole we'll never be able to get out of, I hope."

"I was charged to defend democracy and this nation's way of life, sir." Grevis offered calmly. "I would never do anything to jeopardize it." The President still wavered, and Grevis put the nail in the coffin. "But whoever is doing this will assuredly do so, sir. Give me the power to do what must be done."

Morrison's resolve crumbled under the pressure. "May God forgive me for this." He whispered, signing away on the document of authority.

Grevis took the PDA back and nodded, slipping it back in his coat. His hand went up to his earpiece again.

"Smith." He paused as it connected. "Find him. Stop him."

His hand came down, and Grevis nodded to the others. "We're on the move."

The analyst from before came into the room with another printout, even shakier than before. "Mister President?" The analyst asked.

"Yes? What happened now?"

"There…There was apparently an ambassadorial team from China in Tehran at the time of the attack. The People's Republic is demanding full reparations, and they just went on high military alert. We have reports of skirmishing and weapons exchanges along the border. Also, Pakistan has just broadcast a global message for all Muslims to avenge their fallen brothers."

"Christ on a shingle." Morrison exhaled, rubbing at his eyes again. "The world's going to Hell."

SECDEF Winters nodded. "But you can stop it, sir."

"With killer robots." Morrison murmured, shaking his head. "No. It's not come to that yet. Not yet."

"Then when, sir?" Winters asked tersely. "When there's nothing left to save?"

The question hung in the room, unanswered, as Air Force One passed over western Nebraska.

* * *

_The Strait of Gibraltar_

For hundreds of years, the Strait of Gibraltar had been a wonderful and reassuring sight for sailors. Those who braved the unknown Atlantic, from the moment they passed the passage along southern Spain, breathed easier knowing they sailed the shallower, friendlier and enclosed waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

Today, though, safety and comfort were to be found in open, deeper waters, and the Hydrofoil Tri-Catamaran registered as the _Socrates_ was passing into them. The fact that it was soaring on sloped semicircle wings of an ultralight aluminum alloy at nearly three hundred and fifty miles an hour certainly made it stand out in a crowd, but nobody gave a second glance at it. The _Socrates_ had steered clear of all territorial waters, weaving a course where none but the authority of the United Nations and Interpol held sway…and certainly those two bodies of rule and law had more pressing concerns than a Grecian Playboy's course.

The Captain of the vessel knew full well that they would not be so easily ignored if the authorities knew of the enclosed missile and torpedo launchers, or the latest American anti-air defense gun platforms conveniently disguised as parts of the superstructure at the stern and bow. Illegal though it was, it gave him, the rest of his crew, and most importantly, their benefactor, a certain sense of ease.

The world may have been going to Hell, but the _Socrates_ was certain not to fall with it.

Inside the mighty cruiser's living quarters, Jessica Bravewind walked up to the double doors of the main suite. She took a breath, and prayed that the man whose life she was charged to protect hadn't killed himself since she last left him.

She knocked.

No response. She entered.

Oliver Xanthos sat at his desk, his chair swiveled about partway so he could look at the flatscreen hoisted on the cabin wall. It was running numbers…

Stock prices, Jessica realized.

"Oliver, what are you doing?"

"Mr. X" wore a wan smile, and he drummed his fingers on his desk.

"You know, Jessica, there's a distinct correlation between international crises and the stock market."

"You don't say." She ventured, wondering if this attitude meant he'd come back to his senses.

The black market mogul rested his hands over his stomach; the antithesis of the scheming madman. "When the jets hit the Twin Towers four decades ago, the index hit rock bottom. It did so again when China tried to invade Russia's eastern coast in 2018. And now, Jerusalem's a glass grave marker and Iran is being turned into craters, and the pattern still holds. I almost feel sorry for all the world's investors."

"Do you?"

Mr. X smiled grimly and turned his gaze to his cabin's ceiling. "No. Who feels sorry for rats who infest a ship while it sails, then drown when it sinks?"

He was using metaphors. That meant he was starting to feel like his old self, but that was a particularly dark one, even from him.

"Of course, I'm more fortunate than they are. My own investments in stocks were minimal. Why do you suppose that I put most of what I had into supplies? Machines? Materials?" He pulled a hand from his stomach and drummed his fingers on his desk. "You chided me often, Jessica, saying how stupid it was. But you see, this is why. Stocks rise and fall. Bids may go up and down. Even gold, in the direst of famines, is worth no more than a potato of equal weight.

"I look at what is happening now, and I see that I was right. In what's to come, it won't matter who has the most money. All that will matter is what you have." He rattled off a list, tapping a finger symbolically with every one. " Gasoline. Electronics. Equipment. Metal. _Food._"

"You're expecting the world to fall." Jessica Bravewind stated coolly. "That isn't exactly the most hopeful position to take."

"I plan for the worst, and hope for the best." Oliver Xanthos replied. "I'm not quite sure what that makes me. Cynic? Realist? No. I'm me. There is no label for who I am."

"So what, then?" His secretary demanded. "Aren't you going to try and do something to stop this? You have the power!"

Oliver's eyes dimmed. "No, Miss Bravewind. I only had the power to help end the world. Saving it will take more than what we have and more than who I am."

"So you'll just curl up and die?"

"Dying is the remotest possibility." Mr. X switched the display from the plummeting Dow Jones to a map of the world, where a plotted course marked their position, and their destination. "For a time, we will wait. Elysium was made for waiting. Then, when the time is right, we will emerge. When we do, we will have all that we need. We will have more than we need."

"All we need…to do what?" She prodded.

Oliver Xanthos was most definitely aware of his surroundings, and able to think rationally about their immediate plans. But when he stood up and walked over to his cabin's expanded porthole, Jessica realized that he was still shattered. The man he was was no longer there.

"To do what." He repeated, savoring the words with distant perception. "That part, I don't know yet."

* * *

_CNN Headquarters_

_New York City, New York_

_9:44 A.M._

"Damn it, people, I need facts here, not rumors!" The Editor at their main office was in a fine mood today, and he was on his third cigar in the last hour. The tension was shared by all of the researchers and organizers in the room, but the thick cloud of smoke from his vice was the most lingering—and obvious—sign of their situation.

"We've got our head anchor going on the air in fifteen minutes, and we need to get the facts nailed down. So somebody, start us at the beginning, and let's start to stack up the pieces here. Eddings? You'd better be cataloguing this."

One of the information analysts in the conference room put on a glib smile and set his pen down to his legal pad. "Whenever you're ready, folks." He said in a rough, unused voice. "And don't give me the times. I just need the order. Our boys in the booth can put in the chronologs when they're splicing this together."

"All right." The senior analyst for the Middle East spoke up first. "A nuclear explosion engulfed the contested holy city of Jerusalem early this morning. According to seismologists in the area, the blast was equivalent to the destructive power of a World War II era nuclear device. Nobody claimed responsibility for the act."

"Which just goes to prove that for all their blathering, there's a line that some terrorist organizations won't cross. Supposedly." The Editor summarized, praying his assessment was right. "What's next?"

The Middle Eastern analyst pressed on, stretching her voice so it would remain clear. "Due to ongoing political and economic disputes with the People's Kingdom of Iran, Israel's government laid the blame for the incident on the shoulders of Iran's leadership and fired a 'retaliatory' nuclear strike on Tehran. Figures claim an even higher death toll and dead zone than in Jerusalem. As of this moment, Israel and what's left of Iran are at war."

"Next." The Editor moved the discussion forward.

The Far East analyst perked his head up. "China had a diplomatic corps in Tehran negotiating new trade agreements at the time. They've expressed their outrage and are demanding reparations from Israel and Israel's chief ally, the United States. Currently, there's been no signs of appeasement or call for caution from the White House to negate that situation. There's also been apparent movements along the borders of China's neighbors, most noticeably Korea and Russia."

"Thoughts? Collaborative sources?" The Editor pressed, chewing the end of his third cigar as far as it could go before becoming shreds.

"All we've got are our contacts through the Associated Press; the ones in China have gone silent, so we only have an incomplete picture. They've been directed away from the borders by the Korean and Russian government; if I were to guess, I'd say China's using this incident as a pretext for expansion."

"Hell, any school boy knows that eastern Russia is chock full of natural resources that the Chinese have been chomping at the bit to get at." Another analyst piped in. "As for Korea, China never did fully accept the reunification after North Korea's regime crumbled."

"Chances are they're betting on a loyal bed of former Communists to aid them." The Editor pointed out, pulling the last breath of killing fumes into his lungs. "Which may not be far off; what used to be North Korea's struggled for twelve years to get back on its feet. Not everybody's happy with how things are."

He stood up. "So in summary, the nuclear exchange from Israel to Iran has finally lit the match people've been trying to keep out for a century. China's flying off the handle, and they can get things shaking in short order. What about the European Union? Egypt? Hell, even if the White House is silent, somebody in our government has to have a comment, a plan!"

All eyes turned to the North American team of analysts, who shared a nervous look before their leader shook his head.

"Sorry, chief. I wish someone did. The European Union's calling for a cease-fire, and the United Nations Secretary has called for an emergency meeting…but nobody seems to be listening."

The Editor smashed the remains of his cigar into his ashtray and looked to the ceiling. "Well…Let's hope somebody gets their ears working. In the meantime, ours do. So keep listening, and let us know the moment things change." He looked back down to his assembled crew, honing in on a nervous typist. "Eddings?"

"I've got it all, sir." Eddings slammed his laptop shut and jerked away from the table. "I'm already halfway to copy."

After Eddings left, there was still a heavy and worried air. The Editor looked around, and saw among the fear they wore openly, a desire.

They wanted leadership. It was funny, if only because he suspected a great deal of the world was suddenly looking for it as well; somebody to take over, to make it stop, to quiet their fears and let them know it would be all better.

The truth of it was, however, the people who were elected to be in charge were very rarely the ones who qualified.

"We've still got a job to do, people." He growled, pulling another cigar from his pocket. "So let's stop worrying so damn much and get to it."

* * *

_Outside Redmond, Washington_

_7:49 A.M._

In the years that would come, Light would sometimes forget who he was. He received a preview of that transformation as his Suzuki raced along the county thoroughfare towards the bastion of enlightenment called Redmond.

Adorned in the vestments of a youthful and rebellious nature, sunglasses pressed against his head by sweat and windspeed and his leather jacket flush against his body, Thomas X. Light looked every inch the rebellious road warrior. It wasn't a desire for the open road that ran through his mind, though. Fear did; fear for Vanessa, who fretted about inside the Institute, hoping, praying as everyone still there did that the world was going to keep itself together. More importantly, she was praying he would get there soon.

The drive usually only took him twenty minutes; fifteen, if he was speeding, which he was today. Patrolmen didn't usually cross along the county roads, preferring to keep to the highways that usually bustled with traffic.

It felt longer, if only because no music sang in his heart or his head. The soothing rhythms of Ella Fitzgerald or the wild licks of Slash, so prevalent at any other time of his life, were silent. There was only the drone of his motorcycle, and an imagined drumbeat in his head: A drumbeat which he desperately tried to ignore.

He grit his teeth and opened the throttle even more, pushing the engine of his self-described crotch rocket to a speed nearly twenty kilometers more.

"I'm coming." He whispered against the moaning wind, barely registering the bright sun above. "Hold on, Vanessa, I'm coming."

* * *

_Light's Apartment_

The connection was holding strong, and that was troubling enough. The last year had made Wily into a very paranoid fellow, even more than he had been when he won the Contest through what had since been called a contemptible act of betrayal towards good faith. He watched his precious command line unfurl itself from the servers in the robotics department of the Institute, carrying the program around the world six or seven times before transferring into the main upload cache of the KOC.

"They've noticed. They had to have noticed." He muttered, tapping his fingers on the back of his hand in careful order. It didn't matter that they'd made the program's delivery route as unsuspecting as possible, or that as far as the servers or the glazed human operators were concerned, the transfer was as innocuous as any other update request. All the precautions, the careful tinkering that he and Light had done was for nothing, if there was one alert soul in the whole of the KOC's monitoring staff.

There shouldn't have been; government employees and sleeping on the job were a joke combination older than Wily's dead father. Again, none of that mattered. In his mind, Wily knew they'd been found out. It was a race against time now.

Time which they didn't have.

His hands went to the keyboard without a moment's complaint, and he dove out of the deep contemplation that paranoia wrought into a more insidious pattern; He opened up three more pathways.

Each followed the same bouncing loop around the globe that the first precious program lifeline followed, but each had the same starting point; the Institute. The requests, at least, would seem to come from four random places around the world, but he couldn't help the true source, and any tracker worth their digital salt would notice.

He was fighting an invisible enemy; a foe he could not see, and could not see the movements of, but still sensed in his bones and his fractured spirit had to be there.

Each pathway carried its own code; in a pathway very much like the file transferring torrents of old, they disassembled the program and delivered it en masse, byte by precious byte to its final destination.

The countdown timer for program completion dropped sharply from ten minutes to four and thirty seven seconds.

"It's not enough." Wily whispered, pulling shaky hands back from the keyboard. "But it will have to do." Any more, he knew, and he would risk tripping their alarms, both silicon and flesh and blood.

The status bar for the transfer dragged on, millimeter by agonizing millimeter. Wily clutched a hand to his forehead and wondered, briefly, if he should pray.

_"Mutter…" _He breathed, so softly that it shocked him to hear it. She had been the religious one of the family, always insisting on dressing him and his father up and dragging them to church. When she'd died of cancer, they had lost whatever spark was there.

He held his prayers in check, and couldn't help but chuckle a bit, out of remorse and self-pity. _"Ich bin, Gott…traurig, aber wir beide wissen, da Sie mich nicht in Ihrem himmlischen Wirt wünschen."_

* * *

_Minnesota_

_The Kewbee Operations Center (KOC)_

"Whoever this guy is, he's good." Operator Jones remarked, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. "This trace of mine's gone around the globe four times already, and I'm still getting shunted to dummy IPs."

'John Smith' set his hand on the back of the man's chair and leaned forward with a smile. The wireless earpiece on the side of his head blinked a cheerful, but ominous green. "I would expect nothing less. Given his methods, the time of his attack, and the caution involved, we're dealing with a very frightened and paranoid saboteur."

The profiling, done so casually, seemed to carry a reticent flaw.

The Chief of the watch folded his arms and frowned at the government spook who had hijacked their operation. "If he's frightened, shouldn't he be easier to find and catch?"

Mr. Smith raised a finger, letting them know there was a point to be made. "Only if this was an act of desperation…but there is nothing which indicates that this is a rush job, in any sense. I am almost 100 positive that Wily is behind this now: That man is the most likely suspect, given the conditions." He blinked a few times, re-examining the facts in his head. A frown came to him a moment later. "But…"

"But what?" The Chief pressed him.

Mr. Smith set his hands in his pockets. "There's something about this which doesn't sit right. I'm sure Wily's involved…but it doesn't completely feel like him."

"Now you've lost me."

"Did I ever have you to begin with?" Mr. Smith questioned. "What I mean is…there's something else in this. If I had to put words to it, I'd say that someone has picked up where Wily left off…or someone helped him. Or is helping him." He looked around, waiting for the shocked gasps. Finding none, and realizing that nobody in that room meant to give him the satisfaction of reveling in his Holmesian moment, the agent smiled and went on anyhow. "Wily's been on the run from the authorities for far too long to muster a plan like this together on his own. Of course, there's always the possibility that he set up a time-release program to do this on its own…"

The Chief of the watch rolled his eyes. "Lord. Cut back on your coffee, pal. You're hatching one conspiracy theory too much."

"Am I?" Smith mused, pulling his hands from his pockets and moving beside the operator that had first noticed the problem. "Do me a favor. Refresh the Kewbee update request logs."

The man did so, and five more refused to disappear.

"…He's using that many?" Mr. Smith wondered aloud.

"Send out a restart command to those Kewbees." The Chief ordered. The directive took hold, and two requests dropped away. The other three new ones still remained.

"Check the data flow on those. Is it similar to our primary hack?" Mr. Smith demanded. Several keystrokes later, a divided viewscreen appeared, and each showed a similar rate of upload as the first.

"...Christ, now we've got four pathways uploading files." Someone in the room uttered.

Mr. Smith almost cackled, running a hand through his hair. "So it is you…Oh my yes. But it's not different files. It's the same file, divided into pieces so the upload will happen faster. It's Wily's trademark; why rest all your eggs in one basket when you can have several all at play? This also allays my concern. The first may have been on time delay…but these came too suddenly and in too strong a number to be pre-planned." Smith licked his lips. "He's worried."

The Chief had been ignoring the NSA agent's ramblings, too busy tallying up figures of his own. Now completely stone-faced, he whirled on the others. "Well, whatever we're going to do, we'd better do it fast. This upload is going to be finished in four minutes. When that happens, we'll be unable to stop the program from going out!"

Mr. Smith nodded. "Tell me, Jones…have you found him yet?"

The man's fingers retreated from the blur they'd been in, and he grunted in surprise. "Originating IP address confirmed at…Christ, you're not going to believe this."

"Try me." Mr. Smith retorted.

Operator Jones turned about and looked up at them all. "This signal's being broadcast from Redmond, Washington…The National Institute, Robotics Department!!"

Mr. Smith didn't even bat an eye. "And the other three? The new ones?"

"They have the same routing."

"…Uncharacteristic." Smith muttered, shaking his head in disappointment. "So am I to understand that if we shut down the servers in the robotics department, the threat to the Kewbees will be over with?"

"Well, yeah, but that's clear on the other side of the country. It would be better if we cut the hardline and severed this before we…."

"No." Mr. Smith cut the Chief off with a triumphant smile. He pressed a finger to the outside of his wireless earpiece and spoke into it. "You got all that? Good. Mobilize, then."

He clicked the button to disconnect his phone, and turned to look at the flabbergasted KOC crew. "Shutting down the hardline isn't necessary. We already have agents on site. They'll have this dealt with in two minutes."

"…You've got federal agents at the Institute?"

"As of yesterday." Mr. Smith exhaled. Even with that, though, the Chief couldn't shake the feeling that there was something the man wasn't telling him.

* * *

_National Institute of the Sciences_

_Robotics Department_

A pair of FBI agents had taken up permanent residence in the robotics department since the takeover of the day before. They were busy poring through Wily's old files for some clue as to where they might find him when Agent Walters walked through the doors.

The few people in the robotics department who hadn't yet resigned from the outrage of the oversight and Simdorn's own retirement gave the leader of the FBI task force on site a glowering look. Walters barely gave them a moment's notice, and instead gave a casual glance around the room.

"Seems a bit empty in here this morning." He remarked, expecting no answer. "Have we found anything?"

"Just a lot of old project files and some experiments they had back in storage. Nothing yet which could tell us where he is or where he's headed."

Walters closed his eyes and set a hand in his suit pocket. "Well, keep looking. It may be we just aren't thinking down the right avenues. From his psychological profile, Wily was a nut of a different shell."

His men went back to work, and Walters walked over beside the first technician, who was busy typing up something. "What are you working on?"

"My resume." The technician remarked glibly, and a cursory look revealed he was indeed updating his credentials. "Doesn't feel right to be in this place without Simdorn."

Walters rolled his eyes. "Spare me the self-righteous indignation. It's your duty as a citizen of this great nation to cooperate with us. We're only interested in finding Wily as quickly as possible…"

"For reasons you refuse to make public." The technician snapped, turning about from his keyboard and affixing a fresh glare on the FBI task force head. "You know, Wily was a bit nutty. He thought on a different wavelength, he expected results, and he didn't tolerate mistakes…but he was a good fella at heart. I worked with the man for two years, and there is _nothing_ about Wily which would warrant this. He's not the kind of guy who would go off and create a weapon of mass destruction for the Hell of it!"

The interchange was loud, and it drew the attention of everybody else in the room. Because of that, nobody's eyes were anywhere near the storage racks and cabinets when a dusty, but otherwise pristine robot with green paint suddenly twitched to new life.

Nobody heard the whir of its servomotors or saw the flex of its optics as after running through the tri-color cycle of startup, the QB/M left behind from a year before stretched its limbs, and transformed itself where it hung into its bipedal form.

Nobody in the room saw its eyes change from a placid white to blood red, or saw how it hoisted itself from the rack and disconnected itself from the recharge port.

The first they saw of it was when the QB/M, standing at nearly four feet tall, walked into the main area of the department and looked at them as curiously as they all suddenly looked at it.

Walters had an open expression of shock. "What is that?" He asked coolly. The thing didn't look all that dangerous; outside of its trunk casing, the mechanoid had a rather fragile appearance. "It looks like a Kewbee, but Kewbees are four-legged…"

"The Kewbees the world knows about are all four-legged." The technician Walters had been arguing with said after a pause. There was confusion in his voice, but no fear. "But originally, we designed it with dual functionality. This is the prototype that Wily left behind when he and his design team went on…"

"You mean to tell me these Kewbees can walk on their hind legs like a human?" Walters demanded, now angry. To him, it was a validation of all his suspicions that the Institute had been hiding something. He also began to wonder if they'd been hiding this, what else there was in this laboratory from Wily's legacy.

Another technician gasped suddenly as the robot began to wander about the room, keeping a good foot and a half distance between itself and the humans, looking all about.

"It's all right, relax." The first technician soothed him. "It's in exploration mode. It's just seeing what there is to see."

"How did it get turned on? And when the devil were you going to tell me that you had one of Wily's old machines in here?" Walters demanded. His department counterpart rolled his eyes at the question.

"Look, it's just an old piece of scrap. Obsolete, really. It probably just got a short in the recharge cycle and started up on its own. See? It's confused, so it's trying to get a bearing on things. All I need to do is issue the shutdown com…"

"Sir?" The third technician interrupted worriedly. "Its eyes…They're red!"

The wrinkles under Walters' eyes deepened. "And what exactly does that mean?"

The irritation in the first technician's face now had concerned worry. "White means it's running on its own…Red means that the RG interface has been turned on."

"RG?"

"Remote Guidance." The technician took a careful step back from the mechanoid, which his two fellow Institute members did as well. "Someone's controlling it."

Someone was obviously listening in as well, because the QB/M cocked its head on the lead tech and narrowed its two optics into shuttered pinpricks.

Then Hell broke loose.

With inhuman speed and flexibility, the QB/M lunged toward the technician like a mechanical cricket, arms outstretched. The FBI agents in the room drew out their service 9MM semiautomatics as quickly as possible, but they came too late to do any good. With a strangled cry, the lead technician was slammed into the floor with a sickening crack and the thing's metal foot crushing his neck at an odd angle.

"Open fire!!" Walters ordered, and slugs began pounding into the robot with brutal accuracy. It took the hits with remarkable candor; most were aimed at its back, and were deflected from the durable casing with only a missing flake of paint to mark where the impact had been. It turned about to face Walters, shaking a bit as the bullets continued to pound it, and swung up with a converted hand. The metallic fingers wrapped around his wrist.

It squeezed hard, as strong a human in his prime could, and Walters winced, then cried out and lost control. The gun dropped away, and before Walters could do anything else, the QB/M caught it and took aim.

The last thought that crossed Walter's brain before it was caked across the floor behind him was a question; How the devil could a robot fire a gun like a human?

Walter's body was still falling to the floor when the green prototype Kewbee swung its arm around to the remaining two gunmen.

"Aaagh! Die already, you son of a bit…" Were the last words out of the first one's mouth before his head was severed from his neck from three very precise shots. The last agent, to his credit, kept firing until the end. His last bullet didn't impact harmlessly or ricochet off of the Kewbee like all the others had; It struck the thing in its left eye and blew it apart in a shower of sparks. The thing's own attack went through his chest and clipped his heart, giving him just enough time to register the pain and the bright red blood that gushed from his chest in a stream before he died.

The last two technicians rightly screamed and bolted for the door, trying to take advantage of the Kewbee's momentary injury. Its robotic reflexes allowed it to recover faster than they had expected, and even with only one functioning optic, it managed to line up its last shots well enough to get them both in the back.

As the smell of gunpowder and blood began to fill the room, the Kewbee, who had no nasal passages to be irritated with, calmly dropped the gun on the floor and turned about for the computers.

The Kewbee's left eye continued to spark off and on, but the other optic stubbornly glowed red, and it was otherwise intact. It stood in front of the console that the first technician had been doing his resume on and closed it…without saving, even after being prompted.

It opened up a request window for access to the department's servers and was granted such without fail; to the veiled Kewbee operator's satisfaction, the tech who he'd killed had apparently had access.

The program came online, and the Kewbee typed in the command; a search for outgoing activity.

There were four outgoing uploads.

In a very un-mechanoid fashion, the Kewbee pumped its arm triumphantly in the air, then pulled it back down almost out of shame. Its remaining red eye continued to glow.

The window with the uploads and their status was minimized, and the Kewbee brought up a new command line.

It started looking up the timestamps of past connections to the robotics department servers…There was only one. A few more keystrokes later, the QB/M broadcast a wireless signal with a trace program into the workstation it stood at.

Fourteen seconds after logging onto the server, the Kewbee…and its operator, somewhere miles and miles away…

Began the trace which would reveal exactly where Wily was at.

* * *

_Thomas Light's Apartment_

Albert W. Wily was positive that he had somehow stopped breathing. Light's machine was beeping angrily at him in warning, doing exactly what he'd asked it to do; raise the alarm if his connection was traced. Not the connection from the Institute, but the one from the Institute that led back to where he sat.

He'd fully expected that eventually, they'd track his work back. What he hadn't expected was that they'd take it a step farther…

Someone at the Institute was following it all the way back.

_"Scheisse!!" _Wily snarled, furiously typing in one last command. He'd had the last contingency set into place minutes before, which made its implementation all too easy. A status bar tracked the last communication's progress, and Wily reached a hand back to the CAT5 hardline. When it blinked completion, he yanked the thing from the wall and threw it aside like it was a venomous snake.

Breathing heavily, the mad scientist of the Institute looked back to Light's monitor and stared again at the warning.

They had tracked him to somewhere in the state of Washington before he'd killed the connection. And now, he was finished.

"Too late." He uttered in a hoarse and tired voice. Whoever had been involved was too late to trace him to where he was…but he also was too late.

The last command he had sent out would keep the uploads going; they would accept no shutdown command, they would stubbornly refuse to be deleted. If the fools tried to disconnect the server from the internet or the internal network, the upload protocols would freeze the shutdown long enough to transfer backups to other department servers and continue their march. It was a wicked little virus of a program, and Wily's forte when it came to programming.

His mind went to Light, who was even now driving towards the Institute, towards untold madness.

Wily sank to the floor and set his head in his hands. "Why is it…you can build such marvels, Tom? Why do the things you make stand for good…and the things I make only cause ruin?"

No answer came, as he knew it wouldn't, and Wily laughed to himself, soft at first, and then louder as he squeezed his hands over his head and curled in on himself.

Exhaustion and paranoia finally took their toll, and his voice cracked into open sobs.

Severed from the world, unable to see if their last desperate gamble had worked, Wily let himself fall to pieces.

It was the only thing left for him to do.

* * *

_The Robotics Department_

The trace stopped, only twenty percent complete, with the only sizable piece of information coming from it that the signal's IP was based somewhere in Washington.

The prototype Kewbee mimicked an irritated expression, raising one hand up in the air and clenching it into a fist before coming back to its senses. Unable to finish the search for Wily, it turned its attention to the next thing; killing the upload. Mechanical fingers ran over the keys, clicking with the unnatural sound of metal striking hardened plastic.

**Shutdown command denied. Invalid access protocols. **

The Kewbee's remaining eye widened, then narrowed in a very human gesture of annoyance. It tried it again, with the same results, and then went to disable the server's internet connections.

The thing's index finger froze centimeters from the computer mouses' clicker, and it brought up a diagnostic of the outgoing files.

It took a precious minute to decipher, but at last the thing scanned what its distant operator suspected;

Backup routines. The thing was programmed to be self-sustaining. Any attempt at tampering, or disconnecting would result in the files transferring to other machines at the Institute to continue their grisly work.

The Kewbee hovered in front of the monitor for several seconds, and when it finally moved, it did so with the utmost celerity.

The countdown timer had reached two minutes.

The thing bounded around the robotics department, skipping over the dead bodies and the slippery pools of blood in search of things. It returned where it had come from, the storage room, and found what it had wanted.

Stacked in neat rows, fuel cells of various evolutionary leaps stood; from the old style nickel cadmium to the newest hydrogen ion packs, a bevy of power sources were just waiting to be used. More importantly…all of them, with the right incentive, could be turned into bombs. Especially the hydrogen ion cells.

It flung them out into the department's main section, aiming most of them towards the servers, but giving a wide spread as well.

One minute and forty seconds before the upload would complete itself, the Kewbee walked over to the assembly of welding torches and the canisters of volatile gases used by the robotics engineers in their pursuits and opened them up. Soon, a half dozen different explosive gases began to saturate the atmosphere within the room…and through the ventilation, parts of the rest of the Institute as well. No warnings went off, and the fire alarm remained silent.

One minute and thirty seconds to go. The Kewbee turned its attention to the circuit breakers in the department and began disabling the safeties. When the overload came, as it certainly would, the entire building would be thrown into darkness…a necessary precaution, in case the virulent and survival-oriented upload programs were to escape the initial trauma.

One minute and five seconds to go, the Kewbee walked back to the middle of the room and examined its handiwork.

At one minute to go, it strolled, almost casually, up to the pulse laser that the scientists had used to work on microcircuits and do precise spot welds. It aimed the laser down at the nearest hydrogen ion cell, powered it up, waited an agonizing fifteen seconds for it to finish charging…And fired.

Almost instantly, the surface of the power cell was heated to a hundred thousand degrees Celsius. The normally stable power cells within, agitated by the sudden influx of energy, took the only route left to them; they exploded.

At twenty-eight seconds before upload completion, the Kewbee stopped transmitting. Its last message was a warning of extreme environmental conditions and structural failure.

There was nothing left of the servers…Or of the robotics department.

* * *

_The Kewbee Operations Center_

Operator Jones blinked, but he still could not believe his eyes. "Sir?"

"Yes?" The Chief barked out.

Jones blinked again, but the message remained unchanged. "The upload…it suddenly stopped."

All eyes in the room turned on him, some relieved, some doubtful and yet hopeful at the same instant.

The Chief of the watch leaned in. "It did?"

"With twenty-nine seconds left to go, the transmission suddenly…ended."

The Chief whirled about. "Can we delete that failed upload?"

"It's marked in an incomplete status; We can alter it." Another tech exclaimed cheerfully. "Hell, nobody downloaded it either! We're safe!!"

A rush of huzzahs went up around the room, and the Chief allowed himself to slouch. "Thank the lord." He uttered, shaking it off and becoming the man in charge. "Well, don't just sit there. Get rid of the damned thing, and block any other connections from that location!"

Mr. Smith stood back and smiled over folded arms as the KOC went back into motion. It was several moments before the Chief got things well enough in order that he turned to look at the interceding authority.

"You did this." The Chief accused.

'John Smith' shrugged his shoulders. "If you want to get technical, no. But yes, I got the team on the move, if that's what you're asking."

The Chief pointed to the wireless earpiece he wore. "You're still talking to them now, aren't you?"

Agent Smith pulled it off and held it in his hand, so there would be no mistaking that the light wasn't blinking. "They signed off after my last communication. I don't know what happened, but I assume that the FBI agents on the premises succeeded in shutting down the offending uplinks. Their work speaks for itself."

"They successfully stopped this Wily character from ruining the world's Kewbees. Who knows what that program was supposed to do?"

A technician who had been scrapping the incoming files turned about. "Sir? I was reviewing the data…it was a cutoff program."

Agent Smith was momentarily confused at the description, and the tech went on and explained. "A program designed to sever any Kewbee that downloaded it from the home servers." He frowned and thought it over. "But why do that?"

"Sabotage." Mr. Smith answered calmly, tucking the communicator back over his ear. "He still feels as though they're his to do with as he pleases. He's wrong, of course."

His wireless earpiece flashed brightly, and he reached a hand up to tap and receive the call. "Smith here."

The rest of the KOC continued running, dealing with cleanup and damage control. Outside of the Chief and the technician who had been talking to them, nobody noticed how his eyes suddenly widened, and for the first time in his entire visit, that he looked shocked and appalled.

"That bastard…" He whispered in a hoarse voice. "How many dead?"

The suddenly grisly phone conversation, lopsided as it was, went on for only another ten seconds before he nodded. "I'm on my way." He clipped his phone off and turned about.

The Chief of the KOC followed him, right up to the doors leading out. "Hey! Hey, hold on a second!"

Mr. Smith tensed up and looked over his shoulder. "I don't have time for this."

The Chief shook his head. "Just tell me…what happened? Who died?"

Agent John Smith closed his eyes. "Wily was careful and thorough, all right…Apparently, when our men moved in to try and shut the program down, he found a way to trigger a massive explosion in the robotics department. The power grid's down in the entire complex, the side of the building it's on is either completely collapsed or suffering from extreme damage…and they're still counting the bodies."

"…My God…"

"God's got nothing to do with this." Agent Smith said, more honest than he realized. "This facility is still under our jurisdictional supervision. A replacement agent should be arriving shortly."

He walked out of the doors, and left the KOC behind. Even in triumph, a dark cloud still lingered over it.

* * *

A mile away from the Institute, he heard the explosion as clear as day. He screamed inside of his helmet, and felt something break inside of him. He did not know the source, or the meaning, but still in some inexplicable way, dread clung to him.

He knew, without a doubt, something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Dr. Light drove into the parking lot of Hell on earth, for the Institute he knew and loved was long gone. A gaping pile of burning rubble lay piled where one end of the building had once been, and bloodied individuals were piling out of the Institute, dazed and lost.

He stumbled up towards them, and not once did his eyes break from the most ruined part of what had been his office.

"…Light? Light, is that you?!"

Through glazed eyes, Dr. Light focused back on his surroundings, and found himself looking at the receptionist. Her dress was torn, and there was a gash along her forehead and minor electrical burns along the insides of her arms, which she cradled against her body.

"What happened?" Light asked, trying to stay calm.

"I don't know. God, I don't know. All of a sudden, the whole place started shaking, and all the electricity shorted out." She swiveled her head about, and screamed at a bunch of scientists who seemed shocky, but mostly uninjured. "Did somebody call 911 yet?!"

Light gripped her by the shoulders, forcing the panicking woman to orient on him. "Tell me…where's Vanessa?"

"I…don't know."

Giving way to fear, Light shook her. "Damnit, who does?! Where's _VANESSA?!"_

_"I don't know where Vanessa is, all right?!"_ She screamed at him, hurting his eardrums.

An engineer from the energy department tapped Light on the shoulder. "The last I saw of her, she was going down towards the communications department. She said she had some last minute details to see to."

Light felt the pain in his heart double in the blink of an eye. He slowly turned his head about to the part of the building still burning, turned to rubble and ash and so many destroyed good intentions.

It was centered on the robotics department at the end of the Institute.

The communications department…had been right next to it. And always had been.

"God, please…" Light breathed, and tore off for the smoking rubble.

"Wait, Light! Don't do it! We haven't secured the gas lines, you could be killed!!" The engineer shouted out after him in a feeble attempt to slow him down. When it became clear that there would be no such effect, he bowed his head and turned around to see to the others. The hurt and the dying kept on coming.

* * *

"Vanessa!"

She felt a throbbing, ongoing pressure crushing her flat, and a sharp pain that ran through her and left her paralyzed. Try as she might, she could not shove the rubble off of herself, or even gain sense of her surroundings.

"Vanessa, answer me!!"

In the dull haze of pain and adrenaline euphoria, she heard his frantic, terrified voice. Buried alive, it was the most beautiful sound she could remember hearing.

It was someone good. Someone wholesome, someone she…

She loved him.

Tom. It was Tom calling out to her. Tom had come.

She opened her lips and tried to breathe, and was rewarded with spasms and bright red blood that bubbled out of her mouth as she weakly coughed.

It was enough. The sounds of shifting stone and masonry came closer, and piece by piece, she felt the weight slacken off.

It was too bright, and her eyes squinted. Warm hands touched her face, and after a sob, he spoke again. "Vanessa…Please, Vanessa, say something."

He was with her, and she felt peace.

"This is heaven."

* * *

He stifled a sob as she whispered those words, bought from another cough and another clot of aerated blood. "Vanessa…"

Her arms were shaking from the trauma and she barely noticed it. A sharp splinter of what had been her desk had lodged itself through her chest, skewering in at a downwards angle just above her left breast and coming out beneath her. By the trouble she was having breathing, she'd suffered a punctured lung…and trauma to her spinal column as well.

The lack of communication was probably for the best. There was little left of her legs after the crushing weight of debris except bone splinters and a pulp. One piece he hadn't moved was all that kept her shorn veins and arteries from ending her life in two pulses of her heart.

"I…Must look like Hell." She gasped, noticing how aghast his face was as he looked over her.

Tom let off a sick and consoling laugh, and stroked her hair back. "No. No, you look beautiful."

"You'd say that…even if I had two days of grunge on me and…I walked around in a mumu." Her body tensed up, and her teeth ground together in a feeble cry of pain.

Light smiled, ignoring the tears in his eyes. He had to be strong for her. That was the first rule for injured people. Keep them calm. Keep them awake. Keep them preoccupied. "You're probably right. I think I proposed to you only because I knew what you looked like on a bad day."

"I always knew you were a bas…" She drew in a sharp and shallow breath and coughed up another mouthful of precious lifeblood, "…stard." She finished, and her eyelids began to flutter shut.

"No. No, Vanessa, don't go to sleep. You've got to stay awake! You've got to stay with me!!" He shouted at her, being careful not to shake her.

She coughed, his panic forcing her back. "You're sweet, Tom…It's why I said yes." Her lip trembled, and tears, either through pain or anguish, seeped down the sides of her face. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault. It's not."

"The project file…I didn't get the posterboards downloaded."

Dr. Light laughed like a drowning man clinging to a raft, and brushed her tears away. "It's all right. We'll work on it together after this."

Her beautiful green eyes shut, and she smiled. "Lying to yourself again…Oh, Tom. You know we won't."

He squeezed her hand and sniffled loudly. "I know." He managed to say.

"It'll be all right." She coughed. "Knowing that…you're still alive makes up for something. Not a lot, but something."

"I don't want to lose you. I can't."

"And I don't want to leave you, Tom…but I don't think the choice is mine anymore."

Vanessa smiled at him, and Tom choked out a sob. "Not like this…it wasn't supposed to be like this. Please."

"I love you." Vanessa hushed him, squeezing his hand back far weaker than he had squeezed hers. "Promise me, Tom."

"Anything."

"Remember me smiling. Not like…like this." Her breathing was becoming more labored, even as she struggled to get out the words that would be her last peace and testament. "Keep living. Don't die."

"Vanessa…"

"_Promise…me…"_ She gasped, and the shaking in her hand spread over the whole of her upper body.

Light shut his eyes so she couldn't see him cry, and kissed her forehead. "I promise." He exhaled, and she relaxed.

She died smiling, and that hurt him worst of all.

Dr. Thomas Xavier Light, twenty-seven years old, raised his head to the heavens and shrieked his grief. Even in the chorus of the Institute's dying and dead, it caused the survivors to turn sorrowfully towards him and watch in sympathy. There was, as they all knew, nothing more than that they could offer.

* * *

Wily heard the well-maintained hum of Light's motorcycle, and by the time that his former rival had opened the door, he'd made himself presentable.

Light didn't even notice Wily's presence. He barely noticed the apartment, trudging in with his head hunched over.

"Tom…They found us out." Albert began. "I had to disconnect, but I set the uploads to finish."

"Nothing finished." Light said, in an eerily monotone voice. "They stopped it."

Dr. Wily took a step back, and then snorted incredulously. "Impossible. Even if they disconnected the servers, the uploads were set to piggyback over to the rest of the Institute network and keep going."

"They didn't disconnect the servers." Light answered, somehow finding his way into his bedroom. "They blew it up."

The mad scientist of the robotics department blinked. "They _what?"_

"The Institute was bombed. There's nothing left of the robotics department but rubble and ash."

Finally, Wily picked up on the emotionless tone of Light's voice, and his exceptional mind reached the only conclusion. "Tom…where's Vanessa?"

Dr. Light paused in front of his closet, and swayed back and forth for several seconds. "You know as well as I do that the communications department was right next to yours." He opened up his closet and pulled out a set of duffel bags and bungee cords. "She's dead, Albert. She died right in my arms. We tried to stop them, and they killed her."

Wily looked at Light's back with tried sympathy, and when he couldn't stand to look at Light any longer, he turned and watched the wall. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Light snapped, slamming his closet doors shut and storming over to his dresser. "You weren't the one who pushed the button."

Albert winced. "But I got you involved. If I hadn't, then maybe…"

Thomas shoved a handful of underwear in his first bag, harder than he needed to. "Maybe what? Maybe she'd still be alive?" He laughed grimly. "Even if you hadn't asked me to help you, I still would have. Even if you hadn't shown up at my door last night, she'd still be there, and I would be too. So we'd both be dead because of you. No, on second thought, that should have happened. At least you would have done me a _favor!_" Into the bag went socks and shirts. "No, let's back it up even farther. If you hadn't used my goodwill program to start your QB/M project, then you would have never left the Institute, and we wouldn't even _be_ in this mess!"

Wily was about to protest, but Light went on, ignoring him as he slipped into insane ramblings. "Come to think of it, _all_ of this started because I fell in love with Vanessa. So maybe I should have never gone out of my way to get to know anyone. Maybe I should have never come to the Institute at all!!"

Light roared angrily and threw his bag across the room, where it slammed into the wall and left a dent. Wily's patience finally ran out. "Damn you, just _STOP!"_ Albert snarled, shaking Light by the shoulders. "If you have to blame someone, hate someone, then hate me! Don't you _DARE_ hate Vanessa or yourself! What you had was too precious to tarnish, do you understand?"

"And since when you do care?!" Light demanded, shoving him off.

"I care because you're my frie…"

A wicked left cross smashed into Wily's jaw, and he spun about and fell to his hands and knees. Bleeding from a cracked tooth, he looked up at Light and breathed deeply.

Tears streamed fresh down Thomas' face. "You have no idea how much I hated you for what you did. You won because you used my work. Vanessa's work. It wasn't stealing, but it sure as Hell felt like it. And yes, the Kewbees, the GAIDNs, whatever they are, they're a problem because of you, but I can't hold it over your shoulders. I don't know who to be angry with, who to blame. You? Me? The government?"

The fire began to fade from his eyes. Light held his hands down at his sides and bowed his head. "Why?"

"I don't know." Wily said, rubbing at his jaw. "I only know it's happened."

"This means that GAIDN will still be unleashed." Light reminded him bitterly.

"I know. At least we tried."

"Aren't you upset? Aren't you crushed?"

"You should know, better than anyone, how terrible I feel right now."

"Then how can you be so calm about it?" Light asked.

Wily folded his arms and exhaled loudly. "Don't be fooled. I feel awful, and inside I'm screaming. Either because it's a personal weakness or a tremendous attribute, I have trouble expressing my emotions when I'm upset. Right now, I'll look at it as a benefit, because you're emotional enough for the both of us." He smirked, defeated and smiling at the grotesque humor of it all. "Besides, I wailed my frustrations before you got back."

Light snorted, and Wily knelt down to pick up the discarded duffel bag. "So what comes next, Tom? Where do you go from here?"

"Someplace else." Thomas Light wore age like an overcoat, letting it smother him in his prime. "Somewhere far, far away from here. There's nothing left except for death and painful memories."

"I could advise you that running away won't solve anything."

"So why don't you, then?"

"Because I wish I could, too."

Light turned about. There was reluctance in Albert's face, but no sarcasm. "What are you talking about? You _have_ to run away!"

Wily shook his head, and for a moment, he seemed nobler than any chivalrous knight. "No, Tom. I have to stay."

Light was dumbfounded. "But…Albert, they'll arrest you! You're a wanted man!"

"Because of a lie, and a myth that my ambitions allowed to grow." Wily reiterated. "You said it yourself, Tom. If it hadn't been for me…none of this would have happened."

"You're not making sense."

"I'm making perfect sense. I'm just doing something for unselfish reasons, which may be why it seems wrong for me. If I left, then it would be over. But maybe…just maybe if I stay, there may come a moment when I'll be able to put things right." Wily spoke the words with enough honesty that Light finally accepted it, albeit with a shake of his head.

"You're pinning a lot of hopes on a maybe."

Wily tossed the duffel bag he'd picked up over to Light. "You did too, once. Love is always a maybe."

That silenced Light's protests, but Wily pressed on, and delivered an answer to the question Thomas thought, yet didn't voice. "I can't bring her back, Tom. I can't unmake what's happened. But what I can do is make good on my life now…and give you what little you have of yours."

Light fingered his bag for a moment, then acquiesced. "I'm going to need my winter gear and my camping supplies."

Wily smiled and set his hands in his pockets. "After you leave, Thomas…Can I have your stereo?"

Dr. Light kept rifling through his things, producing jeans, deodorant, and other necessities. "Whatever I don't take with me."

* * *

_Outside Dr. Light's Apartment_

_May 23__rd__, 2040 C.E._

_8:58 A.M. _

The back of his motorcycle looked like an RV had thrown up all over it; duffel bags of clothes, equipment, and the scattered pieces of Dr. Light's life were stacked down with lengths of bungee like cordwood.

Light was fingering his sunglasses, rolling a stem between his fingers, but not moving to adorn himself with them. Wily sat out on the front porch of Light's apartment, watching the person who was the closest thing to a friend he had in nervous hesitation.

The packing had been a solemn occasion; only his old photographs and files of his time had evoked a response in Dr. Light, and even then only a sniffle and a sigh. Now that was all done, and yet Wily could not bring himself to say farewell, and Light could not start up his motorcycle's engine.

"Aren't you going to put those on?" Wily asked, finally pointing at the sleek shades.

Light's fidgeting ceased, and he looked down at his sunglasses as if seeing them for the first time. "No." He answered, tucking them into a pocket of his rider's jacket. "I wouldn't feel right putting them on. They belonged to somebody else."

"I should berate you to no end for a comment like that, but I won't."

"Why? Because you refuse to become hypocritical?"

"Because right now, if anybody deserves to be someone else, it's you." Wily concluded calmly. "But I wish you didn't feel like you needed to be."

"Ah." Light smirked, reaching for the ignition key. "The strong and stalwart rock. I'm supposed to suffer in silence, then?"

"Grieve as you must." Wily argued, holding a hand palm up out towards him. "But don't run. Running won't solve anything, Tom. Believe me, I know. It's taken me a year, but I finally understand everything you ever tried to say to me."

"My visions were of a different world than the one we now live in." Thomas Light explained, finally turning the engine over. It rumbled for a moment, and then purred in idle. The last farewell from Vanessa was in the vehicle he cherished so much; her hands had tuned it to perfection. "My dreams and I have no role left to play in them."

Wily's tired eyes were hurt, and if he hadn't been who he was, he would have begged Light to stay. But he was Albert William Wily, as sure as his counterpart was Thomas Xavier Light, and neither would slip into that rut. Even in their grief, they remained who they were; defeated masters of the world that had gone away from them. It was, for Wily at least, beneath him to beg.

"Where will you go?" Wily repeated, hoping for an answer that was geographic and not metaphysical.

"Why do you want to know?" Light retorted, reaching for his helmet.

"In case I want to find you."

Light shook his head. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Tom…"

"_North._" Light caved with a growl. "Somewhere far north, where a man can get lost and never have to look back."

"Canada, then, is it?" Wily pursed his lips. "And if I want to find you?"

"You won't." Light put his helmet on, and kept the visor up as he looked at Wily one last time. For a brief moment as he nodded to his former colleague, there was no bitterness at all; only regret.

It shone in Wily's eyes as well.

"Take care of yourself, Albert."

"You too, Tom. And…"

Light waited, and finally the mad scientist shook his head and turned away. "…Safe journey."

It wasn't a poetic farewell, but it was all they had, and perhaps all they deserved. Light flipped his helmet visor down and rode off, kicking up dust as he went.

Wily didn't watch him go, not having the heart to. He waited until the roar of the motorcycle was just a distant memory, and then wandered back inside Light's apartment.

There, Dr. Wily tarried, for one event or another to take him. His penance had begun.

* * *

_Offutt Air Force Base_

_Omaha, Nebraska_

_11:02 Central Standard Time (CST)_

Air Force One had landed only five minutes ago, and while the rest of the President's men scurried about making preparations in the secure shelter made especially for him, President Morrison had more important business.

With his wife looking on, he sat his daughter, Serena Morrison, on his knee and bounced her up and down. She giggled, blissfully unaware as most five year olds are of the rest of the world, and clapped her hands. "Again, daddy! Again!"

"Ohh, I don't think so." The President smiled, grunting as he picked her up and set her back down on the ground. "You're getting too big for daddy's lap."

"I'm a big girl." Serena beamed proudly. Morrison shut his eyes, savoring the innocence. It rejuvenated him, if only for a little while, and offered hope.

"Yes, you are."

In the side room set up as his wife and daughter's bedroom, the precious moment was interrupted by a knock. Exactly half a second later, the door opened and a Secret Service agent poked his head in. "Excuse me, sir? They're ready for you in the Ops Room."

Morrison exhaled, and the tenderness passed away. "Very well. Just give me a minute."

"Whenever you're ready, sir." The agent replied, closing the door and leaving them alone again.

President Morrison looked to his wife. "I suppose I should get back to the world."

"I know." She answered, a political bulldog in her own right, but aware of what needed to be done. "We'll be here when you get back."

Husband and wife shared a tender farewell kiss, and Serena hugged his leg. "Love you, daddy." She mumbled.

"Love you too, pumpkin." President Morrison smiled, rubbing her head. "Stay beautiful until I get back, all right?" His daughter giggled, and waved goodbye as he left.

Forty seconds later, he entered into the bunker's Operations Room. The members of his Cabinet that had been on Air Force One with him rose in respect, and sat down as he did.

Morrison took in a deep breath, and looked to Intelligence Director Grevis. "What do we know?"

"Since our last briefing, China has begun to invade Russia's far eastern territories, presumably to obtain the reserves of oil and other abundant natural resources. They rolled right through Mongolia, but we've been expecting that since Ulan Bator became a puppet government."

"Our response?"

"China's aggression has already led to a declaration of war against them by Russia's military. They've gotten stronger since the post-Putin buildup, as you know, but they're asking for our assistance." SECDEF Winters added. "Or so the State Department tells me."

"Can we move help to them?"

"Our forces stationed in Japan are on full alert. The _Carter_ carrier group is off of the South China Sea, but I don't know if I'd move them. They're the only deterrent we have keeping the Chinese Navy from striking out at Japan or the Philippines."

"Give them what help we can. See about getting another carrier group to them. Don't we have one in the Indian Ocean right now?"

"Yes sir, but they're sailing for the Persian Gulf right now."

Morrison winced. "And we're only supposed to fight one war at a time."

"It gets worse, sir." Winters went on, reviewing his notes. "There are problems on the homefront. We have reports of rioting and manhunts in Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Saint Louis, Atlanta, Boulder, Miami, and Dubuque."

The Secretary of the Treasury perked his head up. "Wait a minute. Dubuque?"

"Apparently even some places in Iowa can go off the handle."

"What are they rioting about?" The President asked, pulling them back from the diversion.

"Everything." The SECDEF shrugged his shoulders. "They're looting gas stations. We have gangs marching into Wal-Marts and sacking the place. The police have their hands full, and the governors of California, Florida, and New York state have declared a state of emergency. They've deployed the guard units, but they're asking for federal assistance."

"This doesn't make any sense!" The President argued. "Why?"

"Why indeed." Intelligence Director Grevis mused aloud, and they all turned to look at him. The wiry fellow stroked his chin, and after a suitable pause, he looked at them all. "The last sixty years have created all the necessary ingredients for this fire. The wealth of this nation has been concentrated into the hands of a few self-serving individuals, a process that started its upswing during the Reaganomics of the early 1980's. This nation's unchecked energy consumption and growth led to a gradual increase in prices; the shortages we've had for the last two years were only the most visible symptoms of it. Concerns over liability have led to an almost total collapse of any meaningful civilian support structure, such as medical care and any sense of responsibility. To top it off, the drop in support of public education by the wealthy has fostered a generation of ill-prepared and ill-equipped young adults with no future ahead of them, and with no route to sustain their existence except through larcenous and criminal activities."

The heavy bomb was made bigger yet after he paused for effect again. "And now, in the middle of all this economic and sociopolitical upheaval, we have a citizenry that has turned against itself down the lines of religious affiliation. Examine the reports; you'll find that we have followers of Islam attacking people of Jewish descent. It doesn't help matters that Mecca was suicide bombed twenty minutes ago. It will only get worse from here."

Morrison drummed his fingers on the desk and looked between Grevis and Winters. "All right. So what do we do?"

"Circumstances have left us no choice, sir." Winters answered gravely. "You must declare martial law."

The words dropped like lead in the suddenly stunned room.

"Declare…_what?_"

"Martial law is the only way that we can bring order and relief to the troubled sectors." Winters went on. "And it's not just a matter of the cities that are rioting; we must also think about the ones that have yet to fall into chaos. I assure you, sir, they will."

"Damnit, no!" Morrison bellowed. "I wasn't about to consider nuclear weapons, and I won't consider this. This country has not been under martial law since World War II, and even then that was only in Hawaii! Not even during September 11th or Hurricane Katrina did that Administration use that power!"

"This is worse, sir." Winters pointed out coolly. "Much worse."

Morrison glowered at them. "You all know as well as I do that I cannot declare martial law without the approval of Congress. How likely is it do you think they'll say yes?"

"You're forgetting the Packard Memo, sir. This declaration of martial law would be considered valid under the existing conditions we have presently. Besides, we've had several Senators and Representatives from the aforementioned states already call in to request military assistance. Martial law is a given. There will be no Congressional resistance."

"And what about my resistance?" Morrison demanded. "None of this means a hill of beans because of one fact; the people elected ME. And I'm not about to…"

"Four hours ago, you had that kind of a choice." SECDEF Winters interrupted him sharply. "Sir, we don't have the option of politeness or political correctness. This country, this _world_ is tearing itself apart, and they need to know that this government still has the strength and the will to respond to it. Martial law is the only recourse we have left."

Morrison shut his eyes and pressed a palm against his forehead. "Meanwhile, we have a war to respond to. How in the Hell are we going to enforce military control over the whole of the United States while stopping China's aggression and keeping the conflict in the Middle East from spilling over into Pakistan and India?"

Intelligence Director Grevis cleared his throat. "I've already given you the option."

"Your so-called Project GAIDN. Killer robots, right?"

"Not if we don't need them to be, sir. But the GAIDNs are ideal for the sort of deployment needed both overseas in the upcoming war efforts and at home. With one simple command, I can have every Kewbee converted in an instant to a loyal semi-autonomous biped. All you have to do is say yes."

"I won't…"

"Winters has already made you painfully aware of the gravity of this situation. Now I'm going to tell you the same; The GAIDN mechanoids are the only viable resource we have at our disposal to simultaneously quell our own domestic infighting and put the aggressor nations back on the defensive. The world is used to a strong United States of America. They may not always appreciate it, but they need it. And every moment you stand here arguing about whether or not you can do this is another moment we allow this crisis to deepen."

"I am not a tyrant." President Morrison protested feebly. They, and the situation, had been wearing him down for hours. Now he was at the end of his arguments, and they still kept coming.

"The executive branch has systematically increased its power in the federal government structure since the Civil War." SECDEF Winters pointed out quietly. "The simple fact is that whether or not you believe yourself to be a tyrant, by virtue of the office and the enumerated and added powers it has, you are one."

"And that makes everything that you are asking me to do good?"

"No. Everything you must do that is necessary, Mister President."

The President said nothing for a time, and his aides and cabinet members watched and waited. Morrison folded his hands and set them over his mouth, staring off into space, letting the clock tick by.

"In ten years, when people look back at what we do here today, they will judge us not by the weight of what our circumstances were, but by the aftereffects that followed our decision." He finally spoke. "They will judge us by what their lives are like. By the freedoms they have…or do not have…and by the measure of the cost. All of you can make suggestions for as long as you like, but nothing will happen if I do not let myself be swayed by it. I was put here to be the best of America, and now you ask me to do what no other has dared for ages."

Winters blinked. "Your orders, sir?"

Morrison shut his eyes, so he would not have to look at them as he spoke. He feared it could break him. "Inform Congress that we are moving forces to intercept the Chinese invasion force abroad, and tell them we request a declaration of war. Have our agents on site close the borders; we're on lockdown. And send them a copy of the militarization order for their rubberstamp. As of today, the United States of America…is under martial law."

The White House Chief of Staff nodded solemnly. "I'll have your Secretary of the Press draw up a formal announcement…"

"No." Morrison stopped him, and opened up eyes that were faded and old. "Activate the Emergency Alert System. I will talk to the nation. The people of this country deserve that much."

* * *

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

**THIS IS AN ACTIVATION OF THE EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM.**

**PLEASE STAND BY FOR A MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.**

_"My fellow Americans, we stand at a time of crisis. Around the world, our neighbors move against each other in the most violent and unimaginable ways possible. Nuclear weapons have been used for the first time in a century. These conflicts must be brought to an end._

_Here at home, foreign conflict is producing local terror. The streets of Los Angeles, New York, and a host of other cities are on fire today, as neighbor kills and steals from neighbor. Whether we are Jewish, Christian, Muslim, or any other religion, whether we are fair-skinned or dark should not matter. Today, though, it does._

_The governors of the afflicted states and those states' other elected representatives have declared themselves to be under a state of emergency. They have asked for the help of this country's government for aid. I am bound to honor it._

_As of today, I am placing the whole of the United States under full martial law. Existing law enforcement structures will be put under the control of military police. The borders of the United States are to be closed until this crisis is resolved and order is restored. I wish I did not have to make this choice, but the United States of America is destroying itself. Until control is regained, there is no other alternative._

_Many of you are aware of the popular "Kewbee" mechanoids that were introduced last year. What none of you know, and what I did not know until earlier today is that they have a secondary capacity beyond what they were produced for. The Kewbees under United States control will be reactivated under a new name, for a new purpose. They will henceforth be called The Gaiden series, and will be under the control of the military police. Their purpose will be to reinforce our existing human personnel until such time as their services are no longer required._

_As I speak, Chinese military forces are invading Russia, and are looking south as well. In their own drive to obtain natural resources, they attack their neighbors without provocation. I am asking Congress to make a formal declaration of war to halt these newest hostilities. In the Middle East, I beg and plead with the survivors of the nuclear holocaust to stay their hand: There has been enough bloodshed over holy soil. Let it end. Let us help you bring it to an end._

_My fellow Americans, I wish I did not have to be standing here today, telling you of my orders. It sickens my heart to give them, and I hope that God may forgive me for what we do here today. It is for the good of this country, and for the good of the world, that I, and your government, must act in the way we do now. Pray with your families. Pray for this nation. Pray for the world._

_God be with us all."_

**THIS CONCLUDES THE MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR FURTHER ANNOUNCEMENTS.**

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

* * *

Around the United States, the curious and amusing Kewbees suddenly shifted and pulled themselves up until they stood on their hind legs alone. To the horror of its citizenry, the once adorable Kewbees transformed into the red-eyed "Gaiden" robots. They marched with cold precision as their human operators commanded them to, into the heart of the most troubled districts.

The rioters and the gangs they had been sent to neutralize did not see the biological controllers; only the cold, unfeeling, and merciless power of the automatons as the reinforced robots stepped through. They took hits from bullets and clubs and punches that no human could have endured, and kept swinging.

Overseas, nations at war suddenly found their own Kewbees no longer under their command; the Gaidens, many of who had been placed in sensitive positions, caused havoc and death on an unprecedented scale. As an alternative first-strike weapon, the Gaiden was unparalleled. The earth, still trembling under the weight of war, screamed at the new brand of suffering.

The world had woken up to a nightmare of humanity's making, and the Gaidens were the potent symbol for it all.

* * *

_Dr. Light's Apartment_

_12:51 P.M._

The sirens had grown louder; inevitably, they had to come. Too many things had happened, and too many cards were stacked against him for it to be any different.

The phone rang, and Wily sat slumped in a chair in his former companion's living room, letting it idle away. After the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up.

_"You've got Light. Do what you need to. __**Beeeep.**_

_"Tom! TOM!! It's Rick! You're not answering your cell phone…Oh, God, please don't be…No…"_

_"Rick, is he…are they…"_

_"Lisa, I think…Oh, Jesus almighty…"_

The connection clicked off abruptly, and the sirens grew louder still. Wily shut his eyes and breathed out slowly. There had been the sound of breaking glass before the line had been dropped; trouble had claimed whoever had called.

"Friends of yours, Tom?" Wily mused softly. "They wondered where you were. But I suppose, given how you left, there was nothing left worth saving, was there?"

Car tires screeched, and doors opened up and slammed shut just as quickly.

The door was shattered in, and heavy feet plodded into the house, with shouts of police and orders to freeze at the top of the noise.

The police gathered around him, and Wily heard the distinctive sound of their service pistols being cocked.

"Don't you move an inch, you monster."

Wily opened his eyes. _A monster, am I? Maybe…Maybe I am._

There was nothing but hate in the eyes of the assembled troopers; several wore FBI jackets.

"So you've found me at last." Wily exhaled. "For what good it does any of us now."

"Where's Dr. Light, your accomplice?"

"My accomplice?" Wily replied, lifting a bushy eyebrow. If he'd still had his mustache, he would have wiggled it in contempt. "Light and I were rivals. He would never have helped me."

"Save the lies for the interrogation, criminal. Now _where's LIGHT?"_

Wily stared hard into the face of the officer who had berated him, and met malice with stony resolve, the last he had. "Tom Light is dead." He answered, and said nothing else.

They cuffed him and read him his Miranda Rights, dragged him outside and shoved him into the back of a police sedan. With sirens blaring, they drove him into Redmond, and to a very dim future. Through it all, though, Wily held no regret, no sorrow.

_Live, Tom. I do all this…so you might live in peace._

* * *

_The American/Canadian Border_

_Washington State Highway 9_

_May 23__rd__, 2040 C.E._

_4:17 P.M. _

While Interstate 5, only a scant half hour to the west of him was fully blocked off by national guard units, Highway 9 was a smaller, more insignificant track of concrete. Only two armed guardsmen in an aged humvee had been dispatched to guard the crossing, and they hadn't seen a spot of traffic all day.

The sight of a sleek motorcycle coming up to their post, loaded down with bags and bags in the back, was a bizarre sight that neither of the forty-something men had expected. Per protocol, though, they unstrapped their service rifles and stepped to block his path.

The motorcycle slowed down, and pulled to a stop six feet away from them, with the engine idling. The lieutenant sidled over beside him and shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't let you through. The border has been closed."

The rider lifted his visor up, and looked at the lieutenant with tired blue eyes. "Why?"

The lieutenant blinked in surprise. "Sir…the President declared martial law hours ago. Closing the borders went along with that."

The rider closed his eyes for a moment. "…the last act of a dying empire…" He uttered, so quietly that the lieutenant barely heard him.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to turn around."

"There's nothing left for me to go back to, lieutenant."

"Be that as it may, I cannot let you pass. And even if I did, I could not let you back in…"

The motorcycle rider flipped his visor back down and nodded. "So be it."

Before the lieutenant could order him to stop and threaten him with the lethal force they had been authorized to use, the motorcycle roared back to life and shot past their feeble human barricade with impunity.

His associate swore and took aim with his rifle.

"Stand down, corporal!" The lieutenant barked. His man jumped in surprise, but lowered his weapon and looked at him with a puzzled look.

"Sir, our orders were to shoot on sight anybody that did not follow our given orders."

"I know what our orders are, corporal."

"But sir, why did you let him pass us then?"

Why was a very difficult question, and the lieutenant meandered to the side of their vehicle and leaned against it while he thought it over.

"His eyes." The lieutenant finally decided. "They were dead, corporal."

"Dead, sir?"

"Like he was dead inside, and he had nothing left at all." The lieutenant mopped a forearm across his brow. "Hell, shooting him would be doing him a favor."

The corporal joined alongside him and peered into his face, searching for details. "Where do you think he was going?"

"Far away." The lieutenant answered after a pause. "I think he didn't care where he was going, as long as it was far away."

The lieutenant's judgment had been right on the money on all counts, though Dr. Light was nowhere close to him in order to confirm it. Ahead of him lay the empty roads of British Columbia, and the mountains and the rugged wilderness, nearly untouched by human hands.

Behind him lay a dying world, one he was glad to be rid of. Perhaps he would die in his quest to escape. Perhaps he would live.

A pang of guilt hit him; Vanessa had made him promise to live.

"I've been keeping promises to the dead all my life." He told himself, not looking away from the horizon.

Though he did not know it, Dr. Light had years ahead of him where he could consider the last troubling year. It had been happy.

He had been happy. And it had all been taken away. There was truly no one person he could blame; it had happened. It had all just happened. Perhaps that was the greatest irony of all.

The President of the Franklin Institute, the old drunken codger that he was, had told him on the day of his graduation: **Make your own destiny.**

_The world has made my destiny for me. I wish it weren't so. I wish that my Network had won. I wish that Wily's Kewbee had never been made. I wish that forty years ago, the world hadn't allowed the buildup to this to happen. I can wish all day for the chance that I would have kept control of my destiny…but my wishes weren't the ones people wanted to hear. Or follow._

_Vanessa is dead. The Institute, gone. I had no choice in it, no control. _

And there was the crux of it; running away, escaping, was the only choice Light had ever been able to make honestly, with no consideration for the future, for others…only for himself. It was a hollow victory.

He drove over the next hill, and vanished into oblivion…

And the world waited, as only it could, for something different and hopeful to happen.

It would be a long wait.

**To Be Continued in Chapter Seven**

**REMNANTS**


	8. Remnants

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

CHAPTER SEVEN: REMNANTS

"_The choice is with us still, but the civilization now in jeopardy is all humanity... In our tenure of this planet we've accumulated dangerous evolutionary baggage — propensities for aggression and ritual, submission to leaders, hostility to outsiders — all of which puts our survival in some doubt. But we've also acquired compassion for others, love for our children and desire to learn from history and experience, and a great soaring passionate intelligence — the clear tools for our continued survival and prosperity." _

_-Carl Sagan, __Pale Blue Dot_

"**Hollywood got it all wrong. They said the end of the world would come from falling meteors, killer robots, some zombie disease gone rampant. They wish it could be that simple. In the end, we didn't need any of those things to kill off humanity. We only needed ourselves."**

**-A man on his deathbed, 2045 C.E.**

* * *

_Quesnel Lake, British Columbia_

_May 3__rd__, 2047 C.E._

_1:42 P.M._

There were still parts of the landscape where snow hadn't yet melted away. Trees still stood proud and full, evergreens pristine as ever and the deciduous sprouting their buds in the promise of what was to come. Here in the wilderness of Canada, spring had come, and summer was coming.

Deer and elk, bears and caribou, and even rabbits and birds thrived. They foraged for their meals, wandered through lands that had been there before humanity had come, and would be after _homo sapiens_ was a distant memory. They had no idea that only a few hundred miles distant, a dead wasteland reigned. They did not know that their pristine living was not the norm. They did not know that the reason they had to find new water supplies three years ago for a time had been because of atmospheric radiation drifting down to the mountain streams. They knew none of that, for the forests and the mountains were home, and nothing existed beyond them.

A low beating hum echoed in the wooded hills about the glacial lake, soft at first, then with increasing and incessant force. Heads and ears came up, turning to the source. It was still high overhead, and they responded first with curiosity, then outright panic. A great metal bird with a spinning wing shot over the lake, sending fish diving deep to the bottom and even the vicious wolves dashing from the water's edge as fast as their paws could take them. Only a singular bear, too old and grumpy and thirsty to care about the threat refused to turn away from the shore and move for the safety of the treeline. Shaking out his brown fur, he looked up at the foreign entity once, roared a challenge, and turned back for another drink when no answer came.

Of course, no answer could come from the creature flying above them; it wasn't alive.

At the back of the _Carlisle_ class transport helicopter, the cargo officer looked past his two underlings to the sole passenger aboard. Their guest was staring out the open door of the craft, an oddly satisfied and triumphant smile looking out over nature's untamed domain.

The cargo officer sidled up beside him and clicked his helmet mike on; the noise of a helicopter's main rotors, after all, drowned out normal conversation. "Dr. Wily, are you sure that he's out here?"

Dr. Wily was older and thinner, but he heard the message through his earpiece clear enough. He smiled just enough to make his regrown mustache twitch, and bobbed his head. "Positive."

The cargo officer wasn't convinced. "There's nothing down there but wilderness, sir!"

"Untainted wilderness, lieutenant." Wily amended the statement with a calm knowing. "The kind of place a man would go to lose himself. And I'm inclined to believe the reports we got from the Ts'kw'aylacw nations about this mysterious 'pale shaman.' It sounds like the sort of thing that he'd do."

"I don't know how much I trust the Skooerlack…"

"Ts'kw'aylacw." Wily corrected him.

"Whatever." The officer snapped irritably. "All we've got to go on is your word, and a few rumors by a bunch of fire-water crazed natives."

"They're hardly crazed, lieutenant." Wily pointed out, staring deep into the woods. "After all, they're thriving…while the rest of the world is collapsing apart."

That subtle reminder of their purpose brought the argument to a halt, and it was a few seconds before Wily spoke again.

His sharp eyes traced a course into the treeline, and he scanned for any sign of activity. He blinked, and smirked to himself when he saw none but the birds flying away from their approach.

"You did a good job hiding, Tom…but you're needed again."

* * *

The helicopter settled on the only part of the lakeshore large enough to sustain it, and Wily was out and walking into the brush while the rotors were still whining down. One of the soldiers, the cargo officer he'd been talking to before, sidled abreast of him and nodded curtly.

"You know the restrictions. Anything more than four miles out, and…"

"I know, lieutenant." Wily sighed, slipping his hand into his pocket very slowly. "I've lived with it for two months now. I know the rules well enough. Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it."

They exchanged another nod, and Wily hefted his rucksack over his shoulder and trudged into the wilderness.

He'd never been an outdoorsman, so it was slow going. In a lot of ways, he was probably the worst one for a job like this. After forty minutes and stubbing his toe for the third time, Wily let out an angry curse and kicked the fallen branch away. It landed with sound of snapping branches…and another noise entirely. A solid and unmistakably unnatural thud.

Wily did a double take and turned back to where he'd sent the branch falling. He knelt down and lifted the dead limb, and to his amazement, found a slightly rusted metal device jutting out from the ground. "…Now what in the blazes is…"

He finally noticed a radial meter on the far side of it, and a cable that ran into the ground and vanished in another direction. Thanks to the deceased foliage, pine needles and other remains, it was well hidden. If he hadn't kicked the tree branch into it, he might never have found it.

"Your work, Tom?" Albert Wily mused aloud, looking at the gauge with sad realization. It displayed gray Units, the SI measurement that had replaced the Rad decades ago. His smile weakened as he ran his thumb over the readout. It was somewhere in the milligrays; not lethal, but a stark reminder of what the rest of the world groaned and bled under. "Even here, the poisons came."

He pulled up the line of communications cable and slowly worked his way back along the ground, tugging it as he went. Another two hundred yards in, the treeline began to thin, and Wily found himself strolling through a sea of sawed off stumps. He craned his neck about, and let out a strangled gasp as something hopped up onto a stump by him.

A Kewbee, he realized. An honest to God Quadriped/Bipedal Mechanoid. The green paint had flaked off, and the metal underneath showed signs of scouring and scraping, but it was there all the same. Its eyes glowed with a blue light, and Wily stared hard as the robot cocked its head to the side.

It seemed to be waiting for him to say something, and after a pause, he found only one thought worth speaking. "…I hate blue."

The Kewbee's blue-lit optics dimmed for a moment, and then it climbed back down from the stump and continued wandering about. Wily drew in a deep breath and took another look around, and for the first time, noticed details he'd missed before.

Where he'd seen only trunks before, he now saw camouflaged solar panels and very ingeniously designed windmills. A tree stump hid a well that other robots, more scrap than substance in their design than the wandering Kewbee, drew water from and poured into wooden buckets.

"…What is all this?" Wily asked himself, marching on ahead with a new sense of wonder in his eyes. "This isn't…"

But it was, he finally told himself. It was a settlement of the mechanical in the middle of the woodlands. And it made Albert Wily smile in triumph…for he knew of only one man who could cobble such a bizarre assembly together.

He kept walking, and there, hidden underneath a thick canopy of high standing conifers, was a picturesque log cabin with smoke rising from the chimney. A small porch lay in front of the door, and a man in denim overalls and flannel sat whittling in a rocking chair. Thanks to his thick and bushy brown beard, he looked for all the world like a logger of old.

Dr. Wily tightened his parka around his emaciated frame and began to stroll up towards the cabin at a leisurely, non-threatening pace. The man eyed him and set his whittling stick into a front pocket of his overalls, then reached behind his chair and pulled out a rifle. He set it across his lap and watched Wily come closer.

The scientist stopped fifteen feet away from the now armed woodsman and nodded slowly. After a few seconds the tense look in the other man's deep blue eyes faded, and he nodded back.

Wily chuckled a bit, glad to have the moment behind them. "_Mein gott, ist Grizzly Adams."_

"You don't shave for seven years, you tend to look this way." Dr. Thomas X. Light answered, maintaining a stoic posture. "I didn't ever expect to see you again."

Wily ran a hand over the thinning hair in the middle of his scalp. "Things changed."

"Someone once said things always do."

Wily pursed his lips and pointed to the rifle over Light's lap. "Is that thing loaded?"

Light cracked a smile, pulling muscles in his face that seemingly hadn't been used for years. He tapped the side of the stock and shook his head. "Rock salt. Good for keeping critters out of your hair. Doesn't kill, usually."

"Usually?" Wily asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Thomas smirked. "Sometimes, my deer jerky comes pre-salted." He set the salt-loaded rifle aside and strolled to his cabin door. "Seven years go by, and the first thing you say to me is that I look like a character from a television show that's nearly a century old?"

"I had this prepared speech about how long it's been, but…Well, I saw the beard, and it just popped into my mind." Albert replied, shrugging sheepishly. "Can I come in? I'd like to talk."

Thomas Light opened the door and bowed his head a little. The levity of their reunion sank away, and the weight of the world he'd left behind came rushing back. "You want to take me away."

"I…" Wily began, but stopped himself before he could start to utter a protest that was a lie. Silenced for the moment, he followed his long-lost associate inside the small cabin. There was no lie he could spin. Thomas Light would have to settle for the truth.

* * *

Inside the cozy cabin, Light sat down on the end of his bed and reached for an old-fashioned, woodcarved smoking pipe. A pinch of tobacco was dropped in the bowl, and one struck match later, a faint blue cloud of smoke billowed forth.

Wily sat on the floor beside the wood-burning stove, amazed at the heat the archaic device put off. "Since when did you take up pipe smoking?"

"About five years ago." Light responded, puffing slowly. "Gave me something to pass the time."

"And you're not worried about cancer? About dying?"

"Everybody dies, Albert. It's just a matter of when." Dr. Light looked towards the ceiling and changed the subject. "Just how in blazes did you find me, anyway?"

"You can thank the Aboriginals for that. Or the First Nationers, if you prefer." Wily leaned forward a bit. "The Ts'kw'aylacw Tribe said that they'd had dealings with a 'pale shaman.' Or a walking bear." He smirked as he looked at Light again. "Short of a bigfoot sighting, I figured that the pale shaman of Quesnel was more than likely you…especially given the technological aptitude they all said you had."

"Up here, Al, we call them Sasquatches. Not bigfoots. And I think they'd resent the comparison." The mountaineer motioned to a percolator sitting on the stove. "You can have some, if you'd like. It's been a few months since I last entertained guests, but the least I can do is offer you a drink. Cups are on the table."

Wily procured one of the wooden glasses at Light's suggestion and looked hopefully to the kettle. "Coffee?"

Dr. Light shook his head, making his thick beard bounce a bit. "Ran out of that three years ago, when the radiation storms came. You'll have to make do with grasswheat tea."

Wily did so, grimacing at the taste. "You sure this stuff's healthy?"

"The animals eat it." Light shrugged. "It's good enough for me."

Wily took another sip for courtesy's sake, then put his drink aside. "So…you became a robotics engineer, then?"

"I'd call myself an applied mechanics worker." Light corrected him. "I spend more time fixing up generators and computers than I do refurbishing robots. It's a living. I fix their gear, and the Tribes bring me food and supplies. It _was_ a good little secret, up until you came along."

"If I were a Psychiatrist, I'd say that it happened for a reason." His former rival suggested placidly. "That maybe you _wanted_ to be found."

Light pulled the pipe from his mouth and stared. "Luckily, Al, you're not a Psychiatrist." Their eyes locked for several long seconds, and Wily broke first, acceding victory as he looked away.

"So…I saw a Kewbee out there when I came in. A refurbished Kewbee."

"Aah, Kay."

"Wait, wait, wait." Wily waved a hand in front of him. "You _named_ it?"

"Him, Albert."

Dr. Wily rolled his eyes disapprovingly. "Boy, you really did lose it. But where in God's name did you find it? The United States commandeered all the Kewbees at the start of World War III, converted them to GAIDNs."

"Kay was shut down and out of service when I found him. He was buried under some rotted logs. He'd been registered to the Canadian Forestry Service. His original purpose had been census and surveying."

For a moment, sympathetic relief passed over Albert William Wily. Along with it came the pain of their joint failure, and the hope he'd once held for his greatest invention. "So…At least there is one mechanoid still doing what it was programmed for."

"He surveys the immediate area, keeps track of the radiation readings, occasionally even repairs a piece of equipment out in the field."

"You programmed it to…" Wily started, but cut himself short and shook his head. "Of course you would. You must have even found a way to sever it from the GAIDN servers."

"I did." Light admitted, wincing inside at the marked difference that he and his associate had for the robot. Wily referred to the Kewbee as an it; an object, no more, no less. Light, perhaps out of loneliness or a desire for even an imagined human contact, had given it the male pronoun he.

Even if Albert's term was more accurate, Thomas Light found it to be heartless as well. The woodsman folded his hands together, took a deep breath, and began. "All right. We've moseyed around the bush long enough, Al. So why don't you tell me why you broke your promise to let me leave and live and die in peace? I'm assuming you think you have a good reason."

* * *

"The Wars are over." Wily announced, watching Light carefully for a reaction.

Dr. Light took another puff of his pipe and blinked. "This is probably all academic, but I thought you called it World War III earlier."

"The United States calls it World War III. Everybody else refers to the conflict as the Wars of 2040. A broader term, meant to show how disjointed the fighting was. But whatever you call them, the wars are done. The world powers signed the armistice at Canberra; Australia, one of the few places on earth not completely destroyed."

"Congratulations. The boys finally decided after seven years to put their toys away." Light breathed. "But how is that supposed to make going back any more attractive to me?"

"It's not." Dr. Wily shrugged. "But I didn't come home to take you back to Redmond. The Institute was dismantled at the start of the war; Departments whose work had military applications were absorbed. The rest were cut loose."

"I suppose that with your GAIDNs, they put you straight to work." Light accused him.

Wily's face hardened. "Actually, I spent the first six years of the war in a military prison, being held without charge or conviction. At least you got to breathe free air."

Light's high and mighty routine crumbled fast under the announcement. "I'm sorry…I didn't know."

Wily raised his arm up and let his sleeve fall away. A metal bracelet was locked around his wrist, and it flashed a green LED light every few seconds. "They eventually released me on 'parole' and put me to work. I figured that parole was better than prison. I was wrong, though."

Light looked at the trinket. "Is that a locator band?"

"A little more than a simple GPS emitter, I'm afraid." Wily corrected him quietly. "This contains a lethal dose of strychtnine and a miniaturized delivery system over my wrist. My 'keepers' lug around a similar device. If the distance between me and this thing's partner becomes more than four miles…I'm pushing up daisies from a pinprick."

"So how did you convince them to let you come all the way out here?"

"That's easy. I told them you were probably still alive."

Light tapped the ashes out of his pipe and set it aside. "Well, if you didn't come here to bring me back…just what are you here for?"

"I need your help." Dr. Wily finally caved in and revealed the reason for his unannounced visit. "The world's gone to Hell, Tom. Radiation poisoning's turned vast swaths of earth into uninhabitable wastelands. Biological and chemical agents wrecked a lot of the rest. They didn't stop fighting because somebody won: They stopped fighting because there was nothing left to fight _about._ The United Nations is desperate. As a part of the Treaty of Canberra, every nation in the world had to agree to relinquish international authority and control to the U.N. for the foreseeable future. There's another part that goes along with it, though. And that's where you and I come in."

Light rubbed at his bushy beard. "Just how do you and I enter this mess? You're a literal prisoner, and I'm a self-made hermit."

"They need scientists, Tom." Wily urged him. "Every nation that can is sending what's left of their best and their brightest to Alaska to figure out if there's a way to save earth and ourselves before we all die. They told me I had to go…but I can't do this alone. I need you with me."

Light laughed mirthlessly and stood up. The great bear of a man turned away and tucked his hands into his pockets. "_You_ need me? No, Albert. You don't need me. You're strong enough."

"Then the world needs you, Thomas!"

"I don't give a ruddy fuck about the world." Light snapped. Wily cringed at the outburst, and Light kept his face turned away. "The world didn't need me when it killed Vanessa. It didn't need me when it turned away from my solution to its problems and went with greed and warmongering. It's found its own way to repay me. I'll have you know, Albert, that I got radiation poisoning three years back. It's taken its toll."

"…Cancer?"

Light's head shook. "The radiation's affected my reproductive system. I'm sterile."

"How do you know for sure?"

Dr. Light craned his neck about and lifted an eyebrow. "You don't think I can put a sample of my best work under a microscope? Trust me; My swimmers couldn't handle a four foot wide washtub, much less a marathon."

Dr. Wily pursed his lips together, then exhaled. "Look. Back when you were working on the Network proposal, you said that humanity had to pull together. That's still true. More now than ever. The world that you had hope for, the world Vanessa loved is still there. It's broken into bits and pieces, but it's there, and it needs you. In a day, Tom, we almost stopped the Kewbees from marching. In a DAY. Imagine what we could get done in a month, in a year, working with the best and the brightest!"

Thomas Light moved back to his chair and stared on, unrepentant and unchanged. "We failed to save the world in a day. What makes you think that we could do any better with more time? No, Albert. Play at saving the world if you want, but leave me out of it. I've paid my debt. I paid it in blood."

The two scientists glowered at one another, and Dr. Wily slowly stood back up. "You've changed, Tom."

"So have you." Light remarked coolly. "There was a time that you thought optimism and charity were signs of weakness. You've taken on my mantle more than anybody had the right to."

"Somebody has to." Wily shot back hotly. "It may not need me anymore, but it needs you. And if you don't have the guts to get over your funk and help, then by whatever god is listening, I'll be the closest thing possible!"

Light's blue eyes turned dark, and he clenched his jaw. "You want my reputation? Fine! Take it, Al! You've taken everything else away from me!"

The two men fumed, and outside of the crackling of the embers in the wood stove, silence held.

Wily bitterly turned to the door and opened it up.

"What, no passing retort?" Dr. Light snorted. "Where's the fire, Albert? Are you my rival or aren't you?"

Wily bowed his head and looked out into the woods. "I was the rival to a man I respected. I was the friend to a man I trusted. He believed in the world, and that was why Vanessa loved him." The mad scientist straightened and stood up tall. "He must have died. Because I don't know who you are."

Light shut his eyes and listened to Wily shut the door of the cabin. A few seconds later, even his muffled footsteps disappeared.

Thomas Light focused on the noise of his woodstove, and rolled the stem of his pipe between his fingers. His glazed eyes looked across the room to the bench cabinet where he stored his extra firewood.

She was smiling at him.

"Is he wrong?" Thomas whispered. Seven years had passed and he could still trace every curve of her face, feel the warmth of her smile. In the long winters, he would dream of her and wake up crying. Even now, in his self-prescribed solitude, he couldn't escape her. Perhaps he did not wish to. "Is he wrong, Vanessa?"

_"Well, that depends." _She would have answered, if the imaginary image of her had been able to speak. _"The world that killed me is dead. Or it should be. What are you hiding from?"_

"I don't know." He sighed, putting a hand to his head. "Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I don't want to put up with it any longer."

_"You used to tell me that the world needed dreams. That it would starve without them. Why, then, would you refuse Albert's offer? It's not like you."_

"But I'm not the same." Light argued. "I don't believe in those things anymore. How can I, after all that's happened?"

She looked sad; her illusion had never done that.

_"If you don't, Tom…Who will?"_

He blinked, and the illusion was gone.

The embers in his woodstove crackled, and Light put the empty pipe in his mouth and chewed away.

* * *

Dr. Wily fought his way back down the wooded slope, grunting and grumbling and swearing as he tripped over more fallen fauna. He could begin to smell the waters of Quesnel Lake again, and the low hum of the rotor blades. "Looks like they couldn't wait to get out of here." An owl hooted just far enough away to sound ghostly, and he shivered. "Guess I can't either."

He moved faster, feeling the woods about the glacial lake press in around him. Maybe he'd spent so much time inside walls of iron and concrete that the outside world frightened him, or perhaps Light's refusal had produced a change in the wilderness of British Columbia itself. The fact that they were nearly 500 miles from the border to the United States probably had a lot to do with it as well.

His short-range phone chirped at him, and Wily dredged it out of a coat pocket and set it to his ear. "Yes?"

_"Our sensors show you're nearly back at the helicopter, Professor Wily."_

"Doctor." Albert grumbled. "And yes, I'm coming back now."

_"Was your lead solid? Were you able to find him?"_

"About that…" Wily began slowly, wondering how exactly he was going to tell the ship carrying him and the rest of the scientific contingent what had…or rather, hadn't…happened. It never came to that, though.

Once he cleared the treeline, he saw that somebody not of the helicopter's crew was standing by the side door. There was a briefcase in each arm, and a faint smile underneath the thick beard. Wily stopped and gawked with all the grace of a dying fish, and Dr. Thomas X. Light merely nodded his head and threw his bags aboard.

_"Dr. Wily? What about that?"_

Wily blinked a few times and coughed. "We'll see you in a bit." He offered meekly, and clipped the phone shut. He stumbled at first, then trotted up to the helicopter and looked at Light as if he'd seen a ghost.

"I…You said…"

Dr. Light scratched at his beard, and sighed. "It occurred to me that I should apologize."

"What for?" Albert said, lifting an eyebrow.

"Because you were right." Thomas explained. "You were right about me. I'd forgotten who I was. The Light Vanessa loved…he wouldn't give up. And he wouldn't hide when he was needed most."

Wily smiled genuinely, and clasped a hand on Light's shoulder. "Welcome back, Tom."

Light smiled back. "Good to be back, Al." The two climbed aboard the helicopter, and put on their communicator helmets to compensate for the noise of the rotors as they lifted off. "Besides, I couldn't leave you alone yet."

"Why not?" Wily quipped, pleasantly curious.

"Well, there's the small matter of that three-fifty you still owe me."

"…For Christ's sake, Tom, that was _eight years ago!"_

"So accounting for a four point five percent interest rate, you should now owe me three dollars and sixty five cents. More or less."

"You'll get that three sixty five when you pry it from my cold, dead…"

* * *

_The Canberra Treaty World Reclamation Consortium_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_May 6__th__, 2047 C.E._

_1:31 P.M._

The helicopter had been assigned to a U.S. Frigate. It had sailed them to the southern waters of Alaska, and from there, they were flown the rest of the way in, one of an entire squadron of transport helicopters. Light had found the whole experience more than a little unnerving, given that there were also assault helos guarding them on all sides, and a team of jets from some distant airbase that streaked by every few minutes. Wily had patted him on the back of his hand, and in that consoling way only he had by way of snark, had kept Dr. Light laughing long enough to forget the destructive hardware all about them. He knew why such drastic measures had been taken, though.

The conditions Wily had mentioned had showed on every face he'd seen.

They settled on ground that was still fighting to break free of winter's long grip, on a hastily constructed landing pad. Light stepped off and immediately noticed that the paint was still wet; it clung to the bottom of his boots. Wily took up beside him, and pointed towards a vast assembly of construction equipment that rolled and roared a half mile off, making noise and smoke. In the center of it all, a complex of skeletal buildings were slowly taking shape, thanks to the efforts of the crews that scurried all over it.

Light swallowed, and looked to Wily. "I guess they're still working on it."

"They've been working eight hour shifts round the clock for nearly a month now." A black-haired man in a thick parka said, strolling up to them. He carried a clipboard in one arm, a walkie-talkie on his belt, and an ID card pinned to the front of his jacket; A U.N. peacekeeper. He pulled up his clipboard and readied his pencil. "Names and nation of origin?"

The rest of the helicopter's passengers began to empty out, so Wily took the initiative. "Doctor Albert Wily, United States…And Doctor Thomas Light. Same nation."

The man checked Wily's name off easily enough, but frowned as he flipped through the pages. "Huh. A Doctor Light? I don't have him listed here…"

"He's with me." Wily insisted.

"Right." The peacekeeper said, not really believing him. Another worker came over and the man handed over his clipboard. "Check out the others; I've got a situation to resolve." He informed the man.

Light pursed his lips and stayed back; though the peacekeepers didn't look hostile, they both had a military rifle slung over their shoulders. Those weren't there for decoration. "They're taking this seriously." He mumbled to Wily. His old associate nodded grimly.

"We and the other scientists coming here have to be more important than I thought…"

"Yeah. Yes, sir. All right." The peacekeeper lowered his walkie-talkie and nodded to Light. "You've been granted clearance. Gentlemen, welcome to the CTWRC." He stepped aside, and Wily and Light headed after their departing group towards a large tent put beside the construction work. Others were also streaming towards it.

His luggage in hand, Light both lived outside of the spectacle and in it as they came closer. "I feel like an ant."

"Oh, I doubt very much you're an ant, Tom. They don't have the stupidity to use nuclear weapons." Wily retorted with a smirk. "But the CTWRC? That's a mouthful, isn't it?"

"First thing I say we do, we get that name changed."

"Agreed, but what else could we call it?" Wily asked.

Closer to the tent, Light could see more than a hundred people gathered inside.

"I'm sure somebody can think of something." He mused.

* * *

Wily and Light took up seats near the back; they had apparently been one of the last batches to arrive. As they sat down on the provided foldout chairs, Light gave the crowd of enlightened minds a cursory glance. He was shocked to see familiar, yet changed faces: Faces just as shocked to see him.

He swallowed to try and moisten his throat. "Al…" He pointed over to one side of the makeshift room. "Is that…"

Wily frowned and followed his gaze, then turned away quickly. Dr. Harutara Yoshi and Dr. Flora Jane looked at the two of them as though a pair of ghosts had wandered in. "Yes, Tom. Those are some of our former fellow Institute members. I imagined if we looked hard enough, we'd find more."

Light looked around again, and saw two more worth noticing. The first was Paul Beskin, who had been in the meteorology department when the Institute was alive and well. The other was someone new.

Positioned slightly behind a grim-faced but very attractive woman in a pressed business suit, a middle-aged Grecian gentleman watched the crowd with the same evaluative gaze that Light had.

Thomas stared, caught by the subtle aura of charisma about the man. His swarthy black hair was thinning, and even with a bronzed Mediterranean complexion, he looked a little sallow around the cheekbones. Light realized it wasn't a look gained by hunger. The dark bags marring his eyes spoke of a different kind of suffering.

The man blinked, and then turned to look at Light. The two men watched each other, seeking to learn by the other's reactions what sort of man was there. Neither flinched, and that was most telling of all. Light suppressed a shiver, for in the man's aura of command and confidence, there was a ghost he dared not seek.

Light nudged Wily in the shoulder. "Al, who is that?"

"Eh? Who's who again?" Wily looked up and followed Light's stare, and when he locked on, the man turned about and left through a side flap of the tent. His female companion followed, pausing only briefly to adjust her glasses and give the room a final look. "The guy who just left? Don't know, Tom."

"He didn't look like a scientist."

"So he's somebody else then." Wily shrugged. "Relax. Nobody's here that isn't supposed to be. It's a miracle that you got in."

The room's idle chatter died out quickly when a woman took center stage in the tent's upraised podium. A chill went through Light's bones, and all of the journey to Alaska, even the walk to this place, finally hit home. There could be no denying why they were there, with her presence. Radiation burns had left one side of her face permanently marred, and she wore a patch over an eye blinded by nuclear flash.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Rebecca June. You do not know me, but you know my face. It is the face that you have seen in your friends, in your families, and in your countrymen. Seven years, war was fought on land, on sea, and in the skies. At long last, it has ended, and we have come here."

She paused as the translators and multilingual scientists caught up to her. Light thought about asking Wily why he hadn't asked Tom to translate for him, but stopped himself as he turned his head and saw the absolute bitterness in his friend's eyes.

There was no room to joke.

"I am the site coordinator for this endeavor. It is my duty to see that this project receives adequate housing and facilities to do what must be done." She paused again, and then shook her head. "Many of you still do not know why your nations have sent you here, or what you are to do. To answer this, I turn the floor over to a man recently inducted into the United Nations, and your on-site representative: Darwin Rex Vinkus."

A man from the front row stood up and slowly trudged towards the podium, wearing functional but nondescript clothing. Miss June stepped aside respectfully, and he took his position.

There was a hard and harsh glint in his eye, and though he could not have been more than twenty-five years old, he moved and walked as a man two decades older. He spoke with gravelly conviction and a harshness that commanded attention.

"The Treaty of Canberra stands as the most unique Armistice agreement in human history. It had three major points in the Preamble. Perhaps you have not heard it yet; It stands to me to inform you of it."

He let his eyes wander around the room, making sure that every eye was turned.

"There were no victors." The news caused murmurs, but Vinkus silenced them as quickly as they'd started with a lift of his hand. "The surrender brokered at Canberra was not of one world power to another, or even an allied force to another force. The surrender at Canberra was of all the world's nations to International Authority. There were no winners, ladies and gentlemen. We all lost. And failure has taken a heavy price."

He moved out from behind the podium, the movement keeping them all right in the palm of his hand. "That was the second portion of the Treaty. As of one month ago, your nations surrendered all international authority to the United Nations. Some of you know this. Some do not. There will be no trade agreements, no shipping lanes, no military tours without U.N. permission. There will be no travel not sanctioned by the United Nations, at least for the foreseeable future. Along with this comes substantial national controls; rationing, for one. Curfews. Steps I wish did not have to be taken…but in light of the circumstances, must."

"The third part of the Treaty is all of you. Ladies and gentlemen, you represent the best and the brightest surviving scientific minds that the world has to offer. Look around the room." Nobody did so, and Mr. Vinkus growled warningly. "Look around right now." This time, they did, and saw each other…some for the first time. "These people come from all walks, all corners, all races, all religions, all beliefs. So many of the conflicts during these last traumatic seven years were caused by such bigotry. So put whatever such thoughts you may be fostering away. They have no place here. You are scientists. You are engineers. You are biologists and chemists and physicists and God knows what else. All of you have areas of specialty that play a vital role. In what, some of you ask? And we come to the crux of it."

Vinkus pointed a finger at them. "Humanity has nearly destroyed itself, and the world. And now they have charged all of us, the entire World Reclamation Consortium, to undo what it took them seven years to annihilate. Ladies and gentlemen, you have been brought here to save the world."

Nobody dared speak, and Vinkus sighed. "You have seen the construction outside. When they finish, that will be home for all of us. For as long as it takes this group to fix the mistakes of war, we will work together, we will live together, and we will become closer than you have ever been with anybody else. Some of you may not be around here for long; nevertheless, this place will always be here. Are there any questions?"

Again, not a peep was uttered. Vinkus tucked his hands into his pockets and gave them all one last solemn nod. "We are still calculating the damage, but what we do know right now is this: There are perhaps four or five regions in the world that were spared the worst of war's effects. Alaska was one. This was why this place was chosen. Before we can rebuild, we must first determine how bad off things are. What percentage of the pre-war population still stands. What areas are inhospitable. The status of the environment. The damage to infrastructure, both national and international. That work starts immediately. For now, you will be divided up into teams of individuals with similar skills. Your assignments are being posted outside right now; See to them, get settled in, and get to work."

* * *

"Thomas Light. As I live and breathe, I never though we would ever see you again!" Paul Beskin, far more ageworn than he'd been seven years prior, stood beside the other Institute scientists inside the main pavilion tent. The rest of the occupants had started filing out, and they'd come together in the lull. They ignored Wily, or gave him bitter glares. Inversely, they all regarded Light as a reborn ghost. "Where the devil have you been?!"

"Hiding out, I guess you'd call it." Dr. Light offered in apology. He looked between the three and chewed his lip. "Is there anybody else from the Institute here?"

Dr. Yoshi and Dr. Jane bowed their heads at the question, and Beskin's chipper demeanor died fast. "Nobody's told you yet?" He asked, looking over to Wily with a grimace.

Light glanced over to Wily, who was rubbing at his growing bald spot. "Al?"

Wily frowned at the question and looked to Beskin. "I told him that the Institute was disbanded at the beginning of the Wars."

"There's more to it than that, I'm afraid." Beskin added, glaring at Wily. "By the time they signed the Armistice and decided to get us back together for this, we were all that was left. Everybody else…is dead."

The news hurt Light, but not as terribly as it should have. "Simdorn too, then?"

"He was one of the first to go; a nuclear missile was fired at Seattle about a month after the start." Dr. Jane explained, touching her elbow. She looked at Wily with a pointed stare. "China's response to stop the advance of the GAIDNs."

Light had taken all the bitterness directed to his former rival with a grain of salt, but after the third repeat, he could stand no more. "All right, hold up a minute. Just why are all of you treating Albert like a diseased leper?"

"You really _did_ drop off the face of the earth." Beskin snorted. Wily folded his arms, but there was no sign of anger or resistance in the mad scientist's eyes. "Wily gave the U.S. government the GAIDN robots. He has more blood on his hands than anybody else in this entire base…" Dr. Beskin affixed a scathing frown on Wily's head. "I don't understand why they let you even come here, after everything you've done…"

"Because there's a few hundred jobs to be done, and right now they can't get picky about who's doing them." Wily countered calmly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think that Tom and I have to check the assignment board."

"Wait just a minute!" Dr. Light exploded, incensed at the room's hostility. "Albert didn't give the government anything, he…"

Wily turned about and put a hand on Light's shoulder, stopping the rebuttal. Stunned blue eyes met dark and clouded ones. "Just let it go, Tom."

"But…"

"Let it go." Wily mumbled, looking down at the ground and shuffling away for the exit. "It's not important."

Light started to move after him, but Dr. Jane's voice kept him tethered. "Thomas, for your own sake, please, stay away from him. You want no part in anything he does."

"You're all awfully concerned about me, aren't you?" Light snapped harshly. "Where's that compassion when it comes to him?!"

"I'm telling you this because you're different than he is. And he'll ruin you if he's given the chance. He ruins everything." Dr. Jane pleaded, clasping her hands together.

Light shook his head back and forth, and a sense of pity mixed with the bile in the back of his throat. "Keep your judgments to yourself." He stormed off and left them behind inside the tent, tightening his parka against the chill spring air.

Wily was waiting by the assignment board, silently running a finger down the list. Light came to a halt behind him, and after regaining his breath, spoke his mind.

"Why did you let them say all that about you, Albert? You didn't _give_ the government the GAIDNs. They reprogrammed your QB/Ms without your permission, _they_ turned them into murdering mechanoids!"

"Says us." Wily noted, looking very tired. "Look, Tom. It doesn't matter what the truth of things are. What matters is the perception. All the records the government has show that I built the QB/Ms with the GAIDN code built into them."

"But…but that's a lie!" Light ejaculated.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Wily sighed, holding up his arm until his sleeve fell away to show the blinking bracelet latched around his wrist. "You know a me that nobody else does anymore. The rest of the world…To them, Tom, I'm just a monster. And I always will be."

"But if we told them the truth, you could…"

"Get you into trouble as well?" Wily finished, raising an eyebrow. "I've lived this long by telling people I acted alone. That's the account. Just let it be, Tom. You can't change the way that the world looks at me. You just don't have the proof, or the ability to."

Before Dr. Light could protest again, Wily tapped a finger on the bulletin board. "There. We're on the engineering team; fifth hut. That means we're on the western side of camp. Come on, the sooner we get settled in, the better."

* * *

_2:14 P.M._

Light plopped his suitcase down and looked about the four-man trailer hut set up atop the Alaskan permafrost. There were cots for them, but very little else in the way of furnishings. Although well insulated, the structure relied on a single portable space heater for warmth. Looking sorely out of place, a single teenaged boy sat on the cot in the far corner of the room, facing the wall and tapping away on his laptop without a care in the world.

Wily rolled his mustache between his fingers. "It looks cozy. But what's with the kid?"

The door to the outside opened up again, pulling even more precious heat into the chilly Alaskan air. A fourth tenant strolled inside, lugging a briefcase and a travel cart after him. The scientist was straining to pull the cart up the steps, and his glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose. "A little…help here?" He grunted. Light dashed to his side and grabbed onto the side of the bag, and with little trouble at all, pulled the heavy bag and the man inside and shut the door. The man smiled gratefully. "Thanks. I think I've been assigned here." Light noticed the man spoke with a distinguished Australian drawl. "Titus Grant, from Sydney originally. Who are you blokes, then?"

"Dr. Thomas Light, and my counterpart's Dr. Albert Wily."

"Wily?" Mr. Grant seemed to frown at the notion, but let it pass. "Huh. Could've sworn I heard that name somewhere or other. Are you yanks famous, then?"

"Not to my knowledge." Wily replied tonelessly. "So what brought you here?"

"Well, I was working on my doctorate in networking technologies when the big one hit; put the kibosh on things right quick, it did. But, luck would have it, they needed me to keep the systems going in Queensland. So yeh, that's why I'm here, I guess. I build connections."

Light's stare wouldn't have been any funnier if he had let his jaw hit the floor. Grant looked between the two and frowned. "What? I'm in the right place, right? Fifth hut?"

"Oh, you're in the right place." Wily remarked, patting Light on the back to jar him back to his senses. "You'll fit right in, I think. Now that that's resolved, do you have any idea who that kid over there is?"

If he heard them talking about them, which he surely must have, the adolescent made no sign to indicate it. He simply kept tapping away at his machine, acting oblivious. His black hair was mottled and scruffy; the unkempt clothes spoke volumes about his personal habits.

"Oi, him?" Grant mused. "I don't remember his name, but I think I heard about him. He's the youngest person here, you know."

Wily snorted. "I figured that. But what's he doing here? Isn't this supposed to be about scientists and technicians trying to save the world? When did we get roped into babysitting?"

"Well, that's the thing, Willy…"

"_Wily_."

"…Right, sorry about that. Anyhow, I heard that this bloke was some sort of super hacker, but a real oddball. I heard from some o' me Aussie mates that there was a row yesterday, and he got scrambled into it. Word was somebody got in front of him and tried to start up a conversation, and he went absolutely tin-crazy. Started screaming and thrashin' like a tazmanian devil in a beaver trap, and they ended up having to sedate 'im." Grant shivered a bit. "Oi. Just our luck we'd get stuck with 'im."

"So he's off his nut." Wily shrugged. "Who is he, and why is he here?"

* * *

_The United Nations (Temporary) Shelter, Darwin Vinkus' Office_

_2:47 P.M._

"His handle is Latchkey." In another temporary shelter, Mr. Vinkus took another sip of his coffee and set his workpad aside. "At least, that's what he prefers to be called. His real name is Schroeder Dunlap." He pointed at Light. "One of yours, I believe."

Light frowned. "One of mine? My what? I never saw him at the Institute."

Vinkus rubbed at a chin that hadn't seen the blade of a razor in at least a day's time and rolled his eyes. "I meant he's American."

"Well, shouldn't you have then said, "one of ours" instead, sir?" Light asked.

Darwin Vinkus drummed his fingers against his desk. "I'm afraid not, Dr. Light. While my parents were American by nationality, I was born overseas during one of their tours in Japan. I lived there when the Wars began. I only claim citizenship to the land of the rising sun." He pulled his hands together and stared over the top of them to examine the headstrong scientist. "I've read what little data there is about you; Did some work at Roberts University, then finished up your schooling at Franklin U. with a Doctorate." He blinked exactly once, gauging Light's reaction. "An impressive accomplishment. You then went on to work at the National Institute of the Sciences for a year after that…but then abruptly disappeared on the eve of the Wars of 2040, right after the terrorist attack on the Institute. After that, the records ended. The world thought you were dead…until that criminal Dr. Wily dug you back up." Vinkus watched him a few moments more, then lifted an eyebrow. "Were you trying to hide something?"

Light leveled an even stare back. "Why? Do I look like the sort of man who keeps secrets?"

"Right now, you look like the sort of rugged outdoorsmen that they used to put on postcards. But I imagine that wasn't always the case. Even though I'm not privy to what the inner workings of things in the government were before the former President declared martial law, something happened to make you leave."

Light looked away. "I'd thank you to drop it."

"Are you protecting yourself from being incriminated for Wily's crimes?" Vinkus goaded him.

"No. I'm just trying not to remember the most painful moment of my life." Light retorted. "My fiancée, Vanessa Tercel…She was in the blast that destroyed the Institute. I got there too late to do anything but watch her die in my arms."

Vinkus pursed his lips. "I'm sorry…I didn't know."

Light folded a leg over his knee and leaned forward a bit. "I suppose you can imagine why I didn't exactly feel a need to stick around. Just as well, from what I heard about what happened to Seattle."

"A bad bit of luck, that." Vinkus agreed calmly, reaching for his coffee mug again. "I won't bother you with my stories about life on the Pacific Rim. So then, Dr. Light. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Well, Mr. Vinkus, I'm a little confused as to what exactly my group's assignment is…"

The U.N. Representative smiled placidly. "Oh, nothing much. The people assigned in your hut have all been put there to restore global communications."

"…Oh."

"A simpler task, stacked up against some of the other cleanups we have left to do. But it's a very vital task, Light. We're uncoordinated, disjointed. There's no unity, even with this project. There are still parts of the world that don't know that the Treaty's been signed and that the Wars are over. If this endeavor's going to put the earth back on its feet, then we're going to need to be able to talk to each other like we used to. Not just between countries, but between the agents here in Alaska and worldwide."

"And then some." Light mumbled, shaking his head. "Well, that explains why I'm there, and why Mr. Grant is as well…but I'm still out in the cold as to why you put a youngster who goes by the name of Latchkey under my wing."

Vinkus smirked, and shook his head at Light. "You really have no idea who he is, do you? You were serious about dropping off the face of the earth. He's here under loan from the U.S. federal prison system, the same as your friend Albert Wily. A different division, of course; minimum security, highly secluded." Light still wore a blank look, and Vinkus elaborated. "Your country loves to keep its secrets…but the boy called Latchkey apparently caused a lot of damage three years ago before they shut him down. He's a hacker, Tom. Probably the best there is. He was assigned to your group because he knows what flaws to look for…and how to probe what's left of the digital infrastructure."

"A genius?" Light mused. "Then how come he's so withdrawn? He didn't talk to any of us, and Grant mentioned something about an incident…"

"He's severely autistic, Dr. Light." Darwin Vinkus explained, picking up his workpad. "As long as he's facing that screen of his, he's invincible. But in real life?" He shook his head. "If you want to talk with him, you're going to have to do it through his world. That's how he came here, that's how we worked with him. Don't touch him. Don't try to make eye contact."

"Then how am I supposed to get him to be a member of our team?" Dr. Light asked, caught by the gravity of it. "How can I get him to work with us when we can't even look at him?"

"According to your dossier, you're fluent in more than a dozen languages." Vinkus pointed out, turning his chair halfway about. "Learn his."

"There's still the age gap…"

"You mean, like the one between you and me?" Vinkus implied calmly, and Light blinked in surprise. Vinkus seemed unfazed by it. "Relax; I've gotten used to it. I was sixteen when I joined the U.N. Peacekeepers in Honshu. Believe me, Light; Right now, we need everyone the world can spare. The fact that some of the survivors are younger than you are is going to be something you'll just have to get used to. Now, was there anything else? I've still got to prepare this message for Secretary-General Laerdemik…"

"Sorry to occupy your time." Light apologized, rising to his feet. "And thank you for the answers."

"Oh, no." Vinkus mumbled. "If there's anything we need, it's teams that are at ease in their minds about each other."

Light turned about to leave, but another thought came to his mind as he set his hand on the doorknob. A spark of static electricity arced over his fingers, and in the wincing came the remembrance. He turned about.

"Sir, there was one more thing…"

Vinkus set his workpad and pen down, rubbing at his forehead. "No, I can't get you better sleeping arrangements."

"No, it's not that, sir. Earlier today at the assembly, I noticed a man staying back by the periphery. He had a very attractive woman with him…and a look in his eyes."

"You don't say?" Vinkus mused. "Well, I just happen to know who you're talking about."

"Who is he?"

"If he wishes to make himself known to you, he will." Vinkus was no longer smiling. "For now, all you need to know is that he is a benefactor without whom this endeavor might well be wasted effort."

Sensing he had pressed as many buttons as would be allowed, Light took his new information in stride and exited Vinkus' office, then the U.N. shelter altogether. A chilly spring breeze caused him to pull his coat tighter around him, and he watched the Alaskan sun hover strangely above. Light watched it safely behind a murky cloud, then sighed and turned away as the currents blew the shade aside. "What am I doing here?" He asked himself quietly. "I thought I knew, but…"

Light couldn't bring himself to finish the thought, and so he marched across the compound that reeked of diesel and machinery, and made a pace for the hovel he now called home.

As sad as it sounded, he was beginning to miss the log cabin out in British Columbia.

* * *

"We've been given the task to do the impossible." Wily mumbled, as they moseyed towards the chow line. A dinner bell had sounded, and Grant had smiled and waved them on after saying, _"I'll keep an eye on Latchkey 'til you two yanks get back."_

Light, after talking with the young Representative Vinkus, seemed more subdued than he had been when he accepted Wily's invitation. The humor of Wily's flip-flop, however, wasn't lost on him, and he managed a weak smile. "Having second thoughts about this?"

"Well, I never really had a choice in the matter, Tom." Wily reminded him. "I'm just stating the facts."

"It's difficult, yes…"

"It's impossible." Wily reiterated blandly. "Reconstruct global communications? Hell, it can't be done! All the international news landlines and satellites were captured and made the property of various world governments. Countries spent a full year shooting down satellites with missiles, flying more satellites up, and blowing them apart all over again."

"And if you remember the mandate, those same countries have relinquished authority over to the United Nations…and thus, to us." Light pointed out. "It's not going to be easy. But we've got to do it, Albert. And trust me, we will."

They finally reached the front of the line, and the cook over the massive ten gallon kettle smiled at them. "Come for the house special, eh?"

"Reconstituted gruel, no doubt." Wily grumbled. "The same slop I've been fed for years."

Light, however, did a double take at the sight of him, and pointed with the corner of his tray. The same unmistakable Grecian features and piercing eyes stared him straight in the face. "It's you."

The man kept smiling, but it lost some of its luster. "It's me."

"You were in the main tent, when we were all meeting. You left in a hurry."

The middle-aged fellow shrugged, and dropped his ladle into the steaming pot. "Crowds aren't really my thing, Dr. Light."

Light did a double take. "How do you…"

"Know you?" The fellow dipped out a spoonful of hearty stew and dropped it on Light's tray, staring at him again. "I make it a point to know the people around here. I also know of your associate here, Dr. Albert Wily…The creator of those accursed little GAIDN robots."

Wily didn't seem ruffled at all at the accusation. "And you would be…?"

"For the moment, your server. But when I'm not found in the kitchen, I'm known around here as Oliver Xanthos. Benefactor to this project." Now introduced, Mr. Xanthos ladled another spoonful of stew onto Wily's tray. "I think you'll find that this isn't your usual prison slop, Dr. Wily."

The two men looked down at their trays, and for the first time noticed everything in the stew. Slices of carrots and celery, diced potatoes, onion slivers, and honest to god meatballs.

"This is…" Light began, a solemn hush in his voice.

"Probably a better meal than you've had in a very long time. I know." Mr. Xanthos finished. "Hell, better than most people here have probably had."

"But these carrots, these onions…they're fresh!" Wily sputtered. "Where on earth did you…"

Oliver Xanthos shook his head. "If it puts your nerves at ease, none of this was taken from the less fortunate. All of this comes from contingency plans set aside years ago. But there's only so much, even for you and the others here. So enjoy it while you can. Get strong. You'll need all the energy you can muster to protect and feed the rest of the world." He finished the dialogue by dropping a square of cornbread onto the trays, but away from the stew, then shooing them away. "Good luck, gentlemen."

Light went to an empty table, and had his tray set down when he realized that Albert wasn't off of his shoulder anymore. "Hey, Al, are you…" He turned about and felt his voice catch in his throat.

Wily stood there, looking down at his tray of food as though he held a king's feast in his hands. Tears came freely down the sides of his face, salting the stew with bitterness.

Light walked over to his friend. "Hey. Are you going to be all right?"

Wily sniffed, and Light had to take the tray from him before his shaking hands dropped it to the floor. "Real food. God, Tom. It's so beautiful. The smell…the warmth of it. Why me, Tom? Why do we get to eat this?"

Light led him to the table and sat him down, realizing again how very much the years had changed them. He was still gaunt, but he had the bulk and beard of a lumberjack. Albert Wily, on the other hand, was frail and broken.

Wily sat there, spooning mouthfuls of the sustaining stew away and weeping the entire time, and though Light didn't miss out on his own meal, he didn't truly enjoy it. The suffering that the world had endured shone through Wily's beaten stature. No matter how savory the meal…There would be no enjoying it until the smiles had returned.

* * *

_May 7__th__, 2047 C.E._

_5:14 A.M._

His eyes were shut, and through the low moan of the Arctic wind, Thomas Light heard the constant and steady sound of fingers clacking against the keyboard. He ran through some slow breathing exercises, trying to convince himself that he wasn't hearing it, that everybody in his four man shelter was still fast asleep.

Light finally opened his eyes, cursing himself for doing so in the process. He'd always had trouble sacking out the moment he opened his eyes, as if visual stimulus snapped all hope of sleep away from him.

Wily was curled up into a tight ball, covered and scrunched inside the surplus army issue blankets. Titus Grant…who unfortunately, by the look of things, preferred to sleep in the nude…was snoring gently with one hairy leg sticking out from underneath the covers of his own cot.

_Which means that the person that I'm going to kill for being awake at this hour is…_

He turned about, and there in the corner still, with his mottled black hair looking very much unchanged, was Schroeder Dunlap…the self-titled "Latchkey."

Light groaned and threw the covers aside, lurching to a sitting position and teetering ever so slightly as he struggled to maintain a balance between awake and asleep. The middling stage played Hell with his speech, after all. "Mmmrphm." He mumbled, then remembered what Vinkus, that U.N. golden boy, had said to him.

_If you want to talk with him, you're going to have to do it through his world._

"Computer." Light mumbled, more cohesively than his first attempt. He looked around the room, trying to recall in the dark where they had put their laptops. "Need a computer."

Five minutes, one stubbed toe and one bumped noggin later, Light climbed back in his bed and covered his shivering body with the blankets. He set the still-booting computer across his lap and signed on…then went searching over the airwaves. He'd noticed that Latchkey had been running an open-source chat program in the background; An old fashioned IRC. A quick scan of the local airwaves turned up his channel, and hoping that the boy stuck to his guns…and his name…Light took the plunge.

**To: Latchkey  
From: BriteLite**

_What are you doing up this early?_

Across the room, Light saw his message pop up on Latchkey's screen, and the youth froze. The noise of keystrokes came to a standstill, as the autistic savant considered the new stimulus.

Light bit his lip. "Come on, kid…Take the bait…"

Ten seconds after the message appeared, Latchkey hunched over a little more, and began to type a response.

**Latchkey:** L00kn at teh CTWRC pursonnel files. U?

Light smiled. "Research, eh?" He whispered to himself. His fingers went to work, and the conversation continued.

**BriteLite: **I'm Tom Light. They tell me that you've been assigned to work on my team.

**Latchkey:** O rly? Thats kool. But who r u again?

**BriteLite: **…I'm the only other person in this cabin with you who's awake. Your typing kept me up. Why aren't you asleep?

**Latchkey: **Cant sleep. 2 much 2 do.

**BriteLite: **And just what are you doing, Latch?

**Latchkey: **Figring out where the trickr is.

**BriteLite: **…The Tricker? What's the Tricker?

**Latchkey: **Who. Tricker wuz sent to k33p n i on us. R u the trickr?

_Wonderful_, Light thought to himself. _So either there's a spy here or this kid is absolutely nuts._

**BriteLite: **I don't think I am. Latch, did they tell you what we're supposed to do?

**Latchkey: **They told me I wuz going to h4ck sum internetz.

**BriteLite: **It's a little more than that, I'm afraid. We need to fix it.

**Latchkey: **Itz broken? U can't break the internet. U noob.

Across the way, Light thought he heard the boy snicker. In spite of himself, Light cracked a grin. "Little shithead." He mumbled, typing back.

**BriteLite: **They divided it up. We have to reconnect everything…whether it's using landlines or satellites. Whatever's left, we have to get it working. The CTWRC needs communications back to coordinate the Reconstruction efforts.

**Latchkey: **Ur nutz. I no u. U cant make a N3twrk out of the pieces. U cant hack them all.

**BriteLite: **You're right. I can't. But **you** can.

**Latchkey: **…?

"All right, kid. Let's see if you've got a hacker's egomania underneath all those layers…" Light mumbled again. If Schroeder heard him, he didn't show it.

**BriteLite: **I heard you were a good hacker. I heard you caused Uncle Sam a lot of headaches. Is that true?

**Latchkey: **Yes. Hacked the GAIDN protuculz.

Light sucked a whistling breath through his teeth as he read the last line. "What in the…"

**BriteLite: **…**The** GAIDNs? As in, the warrior robots? When? How?

**Latchkey: **2 yeers ago. Tuk 1 apart and hacked itz uplink.

**BriteLite: **Didn't they try to stop you? Didn't they force you out?

**Latchkey: **They tried. Epic failz.

**BriteLite: **Why did you do it?

**Latchkey: **Tired of feelin like a prizonr in my own hom.

Light's ears perked up…Latchkey was actually softly laughing.

**Latchkey: **Made the GAIDNs start brakedansing. LOL.

**BriteLite: **UR…I mean, you're kidding me!

**Latchkey: **Heard that the US lost a battle cuz of that. Then the bad men came. Tuk me to jail. No PC. Wuz sad.

**BriteLite: **Latch…I'm sorry.

**Latchkey: **Y? Not ur fault.

**BriteLite: **I still feel sorry for you. So, they sent you here, then?

**Latchkey: **They said if I helpd, I get to h4ck again. No help, stay in jail. Not much chois.

**BriteLite: **Well, they were right about that, kid. You are going to hack. Because we've got to get communications up and running, or else everything else going on here isn't going to happen. We're going to have to hack, crack, and access whatever's left and try to build working communications. That's internet, digital, everything. You up for the challenge?

**Latchkey: **Letz pwn them.

Light looked at the last line, smiling with a certain sense of pride. This Schroeder Dunlap had been good enough to do what he and Wily had nearly succeeded at…of course, he'd had more time, and the benefit of a genuine Kewbee at the time…but the simple fact was he was still a hacker. He'd hacked the GAIDNs. He'd done it for the right reason…to stop the U.S. from using them as shock troops to take over everything.

Light looked across the room; Latchkey was still typing, presumably on another hacking program, once more oblivious to the world not on his computer screen.

"You're a hell of a kid." Light whispered. "And you've got a good heart."


	9. Second Rainbow

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**CHAPTER EIGHT: SECOND RAINBOW**

"**Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding."** –Ralph Waldo Emerson

"_If you stop calling him your opponent, then perhaps he can join you as a partner."_

-Tristan J. Loo

* * *

_From the Diary of Dr. Thomas X. Light_

_May 18__th__, 2047 C.E._

**Nearly two weeks ago, I was beginning to question why I had agreed to Albert's offer. My team seemed to be piecemeal and dysfunctional; Hell, everything about the CTWRC smacks of piecemeal and dysfunctional. Even the name. Long, gangly, and Hell to pronounce with a straight face. But a few things changed. I met some people. People, my father used to say, make all the difference in where you are. Good people make it bearable. Bad people…well, you get the idea.**

**Oliver Xanthos, one of the 'benefactors' for this UN-sponsored endeavor mostly keeps to himself. He never says much, but he always seems to be hovering around the CTWRC. Oliver never gives a straight answer about what exactly he donates to the cause…but with that secretary of his always nearby, I'm fearful to push the subject. She seems the sort of person who could throw me through a wall if she felt like it. Something's eating at him, though. He'll never come out and say it, but there's a glimmer in his eye. Remorse? He's hardly alone in that. I think all of us, myself and Wily included, wish things had gone differently.**

**The United Nations on-site representative is a fellow in his twenties by the name of Darwin Vinkus. He's sharp as a tack, and though his focus is politics, his service record indicates that he saw some action during the defense of Japan. I look at him and remember who I used to be, back when the Institute was still around…but it's because of his age, not his temperament. The Wars changed all of us, but there's a brand of bitterness and cynicism in him that seems to haunt everything he does. He's always there to remind us as we try to become friendly with each other that we're here for a reason. What he does beyond writing reports to the U.N. Secretary General, though, is beyond me.**

**Upon arrival, I was assigned to a team with three other gentlemen; Albert Wily, my old Institute comrade, an Australian technician by the name of Titus Grant, and a boy in his late teens, Shroeder Dunlap. He prefers to be called by his net handle; "Latchkey." **

**After some shocks that went along with becoming accustomed to conditions that weren't prisonlike, Al's smoothed out some; He wears the years hard. I'm sure I do too, but we never bring it up to each other. We just nod and move on…relics from an obliterated past, trying to find a way in the present.**

**Mr. Grant is the polar opposite of Albert: Friendly, conversational, and always with a rum joke to crack a tense moment. He's a nuts and bolts man when it comes to telecommunications, which helps out a great deal; Wily can do a smattering of program code, but his focus was always robotics. Grant's been great at getting Al into the swing of things, and who knows? Maybe some of that cheery disposition will rub off on him too.**

**The last member of our group, Latchkey, mostly keeps to himself. That suits the others fine; Al and Titus informally put me in charge of communicating with Shroeder and assigning his work. There's no mistake that the kid's brilliant; damned brilliant. There are days that go by when I forget he's autistic. When I learned why he'd been incarcerated and then shipped off here, I started wondering if this wasn't all more than coincidental; He hacked the GAIDNs and neutralized them, albeit temporarily. Long enough that the advantage they offered came to a crashing halt. U.S. forces lost a crucial battle in Mexico because of that, apparently…but it also helped to bring the war closer to its end. Like Al and I tried to do, he stopped the mechanoids. I don't think he'll ever get the thanks he deserves for that. He communicates only through the electronic medium; text chat programs. Though he is most definitely aware of the outside world, his condition keeps him from interacting with it effectively. He'll eat a doughnut if I set it next to him, though. I haven't figured out how to convince him to take a shower yet: That's my next big task. In the meantime, Al's got a case of air freshener stationed around his section.**

**Putting the world back on stable footing's been no picnic; I don't envy the other teams, who have to worry about radiation cleanup and undoing the other environmental damage, or finding reliable power sources in the new age. The team in charge of building the world census bumps into roadblocks at every turn; finding populations of any size is tough as Hell. The teams at work on rebuilding the world's food supplies have it somewhat easier; the Svalbard Seed Vault survived the apocalypse, just like it was intended to, and Xanthos somehow scrounged up a collection of other flora and fauna. Even they face a tough challenge. Rebuilding crops, when some of the most fertile soil in the world has been hit by nuclear, biological, and chemical agents, is almost wishful thinking.**

**It's been tough on our end. Too many hubs of the worldwide web got hit. Yes, it was designed to survive a nuke or two. It wasn't designed to survive that plus seven years of everything else. Landlines are spotty at best; a patch here or there that's survived. Al says it's just as well, because his inbox is probably full of links to pornographic websites he'd rather not deal with. The agents we have out and about in the world reporting back to us here at the CTWRC told us that it'd take about two years of very hard work to rebuild the global network back to the way it was, in its current condition. Representative Vinkus was the first to remind us that target time was unacceptable. We knew that well enough on our own, though. **

**Schroeder…or Latchkey, as he prefers to be called, has been a godsend. The kid's a natural insomniac, and he's been our frontliner. As long as he's got Twinkies, he's golden. Latch pokes and prods at things, Al and Titus gauge the response and determine whether or not there are viable connections, and I…? They've put me in charge of running the code rebuild. **

**For now, we're focusing our efforts on identifying the communications satellites still operational and linking them together. Even though we're supposed to have the full cooperation of participating nations, info on their orbitals has been slow in coming. The communications breakdown, as serious as it is, plays a large part in that, but I can't shake the feeling that they're holding back. Luckily for us, and unfortunately for them, all of us have become hackers of the highest rank in short order. We leave the toughest nuts to Latch, but Wily and I haven't forgotten everything we knew about electronically breaking and entering…**

**Titus is compiling a report for the CTWRC leadership on our progress, but for the moment, the other three of us are working on a new and promising lead. Some pings have turned up a 'weather satellite' earmarked in NASA's budget about ten years ago…but with some unmistakable signatures of a spook eye. It was in sleep mode when we found it, and if we can get it running again, it'll give us, and the rest of the CTWRC a chance to get a bird's eye view of what's still standing…**

**And what isn't.**

* * *

_The CTWRC Main Pavilion_

_May 20__th__, 2047 C.E._

_4:57 P.M._

Representative Vinkus and several other members of the CTWRC were on hand; they'd even broken down and brought up a projector from storage. Although every team was supposed to stay focused, nearly two dozen others of the assorted scientists found some excuse to sidle in for the show.

Wily had a screwdriver clamped in his teeth as he rose up from some hastily reconstructed connector pins. "Aahright, try that nah." He announced. The wince followed soon after, and Wily spat out the tool into his hand. "Try it now." He restated.

Dr. Light powered up the projector again, and instead of a feedless static, the signal from the refurbished console PC booted up without a hitch. He grinned and threw Wily a thumbs up. "Perfect! What was it?"

"A bent pin, and the braces weren't tight enough." Wily replied. The wild-haired "Mad Scientist" glanced past Light and stared at the boy sitting at the console's station. "How's your _wunderkind_ coming along, Tom?"

Every head in the Pavilion turned to look at the autistic youth; Schroeder Dunlap, a scruffy, black-haired kid who had been sentenced to work for the Reconstruction efforts after his hacking crimes. Unaware of the new attention focused on him, "Latchkey" kept typing away on the console PC without a care in the world, save for the task at hand. An opened box of Twinkies was positioned close nearby; they were Latch's favorite food, if the last two weeks were any indication.

Light smiled and reached for a nearby laptop. "Well, how about I ask him?" He brought up the chat program he shared with the boy over the short-range Wi-Fi, and typed in a query.

**BriteLite:** We've got the Projector working. How's it coming on your end?

The message appeared on Latch's screen, and the boy paused in his work to regard the new input. It remained the only viable method of communication they had to him.

**Latchkey: **Good. U all rdy 4 the sho?

**BriteLite:** Whenever you are. You've got a good signal. Light it up, and let's take a look at the world!

Vinkus walked over next to Light and offered a respectful nod. "You picked a Hell of a thing to open up with, Light. You've got everybody in the CTWRC on pins and needles here."

"It wasn't my intention to worry them, sir." Light apologized, closing his laptop and tucking it under his arm. "But I didn't expect this huge of a turnout. It's just an old satellite I thought we could commandeer to take stock of the world."

"A very clinical approach, Dr. Light, but you're forgetting something." Vinkus reminded the savant. "Everybody here gives a damn about what happens to the world. And we all want to know how bad things are. To them, this old satellite isn't just a camera to take sterile snapshots of the damage…it's a living emblem of how much work is ahead of us, and how much is left."

Light glanced over to Wily, and his morose counterpart offered a nod of agreement. Thomas finally blinked, and nodded. "We'd best not leave them waiting, then. Latch said he was almost…"

The projector flared to life, and suddenly every murmur and whisper in the tent cut out for deathly silence.

"…Ready." Dr. Light finished, and let himself become as enraptured as everybody else.

The image was fuzzy; cloud cover, it seemed. Light opened his laptop back up and pulled the chat program online again.

**BriteLite: **Can you fix that resolution any?

**Latchkey:** Chngin the filltr now.

A digital line rolled across the screen in several waves, altering the image and adjusting the focus of the orbiting eye until at long last, the ground could be made out in sharp detail. A manmade system of grays and blacks and browns was surrounded by empty tundra.

Murmurs soon filled the room again, as everyone realized they were looking at the ruins of a city. And the murmurs died down for shock as they read the name under the coordinates.

"...That's Rome." Wily spoke quietly. Of everybody there, he seemed the most inured to the surreal nature of the statement. It wasn't even recognizable as Rome; the Coliseum, the Vatican, none of it was standing.

They zoomed in closer, and the resolution adjusted to reveal smaller piles of rubble and masonry, and skeletonized buildings and vehicles.

"My God." Light whispered. He'd known that the world had gone to war, but nothing in Wily's summarizations had prepared him for this. "It's…it's completely gone."

Darwin Vinkus turned away. "The North African Coalition exposed Rome to a weaponized strain of Ebola in 2043. The European Union neutralized the outbreak with a combination of neutron bombs and standard explosives. We figured that it was a write-off…but at least it'll be safe for habitation by 2055. Provided we're still alive then."

Light still gaped, and didn't move until Wily tapped him on the shoulder. "Take a look at Seattle. You won't like the picture."

Light sent the request to Latchkey, and a few seconds later, the satellite dug into its archived footage until it found the appropriate segment. It was odd to look at, and Wily looked to Vinkus. "See, orbital satellites can only show real-time images of whatever they're above…Seattle's half a world away, so it has to dig into its memory to find a picture."

The still shot clicked on. Seattle was even worse off than Rome had been. Outside of a few ruins left on the outskirts of a massive crater…

Nothing.

"They really did bomb it." Dr. Light uttered numbly. The room began to fill up with frightened voices, angry voices. All the scientists and technicians of the project suddenly wanted to see other things; their cities, nature preserves, or scenic locales.

"Show us Hong Kong!"

"_Nein_, _zer Danube!"_

"Please! I have to know if New Dehli still exists!"

"Quiet, all of you!" Vinkus exploded, his relative youth not a stopping point at all to the ire he had for the now illogical men of the future. "We've got to use this satellite to identify key regions for the Reconstruction first. _IF_ there is still power in it when we're through, _THEN_, and only then, will we use it for these personal requests!"

The outburst silenced the bystanders, more out of guilt than respect. The U.N. Representative stared them all down, seemingly goading them for another outburst. It was only when none came that he sighed and spoke up again. "All right. Dr. Light, do you think it would be possible to have that satellite give us an image of Paris?"

"What's in Paris?" Light asked, already typing in the location change over his IM to Latchkey.

"The temporary United Nations European control station. They've been the continental headquarters since the Treaty."

The satellite view displayed _adjusting; 14 seconds_, and after the countdown, refreshed its image. It came slowly at first, but then finished its run and showed a real time image.

Even in Paris, the destruction was near total. A cloud passed by, and the feed glitched for a moment as the filters cut through the atmosphere. There were still too many grainy specks in the air; residue that the digital filters couldn't remove, perhaps.

Wily shook his head. "There's nothing left."

Vinkus blinked several times, running his eyes over the image. "But that's impossible. Paris was hit, sure, but it shouldn't be this bad…"

Light's laptop made a noise, and drew him back in.

**Latchkey:** Thatz teh best I kn do.

**BriteLite:** What's the residual? Cloud cover?

Vinkus motioned towards one shattered region of the city of love; about half a mile distant from Notre Dame Cathedral. "Zoom in on this."

Light sent Latchkey the command, and the boy did so, part of a Twinkie still poking out of his mouth.

Vinkus blinked a few more times, then finally allowed himself to panic. "It's gone!"

Light, who was still dazed enough he didn't catch how similar the destruction was in Paris as it had been in Seattle, noticed that zoomed in, the gray grainy specks danced in the wind and fell to earth. "Why…Look, it's snowing!"

Everybody in the tent looked at what Light had seen, and though some found a moment of peace in believing that, it was Wily who broke the peaceful moment with a sudden revelation.

"Tom?"

"Yes, Al?"

"That's not snow." Dr. Wily concluded darkly.

The room fell apart, with Vinkus shouting for somebody to get him a line to UN Headquarters, and the French scientists weeping.

Light lost all bearing, and everything in the room seemed to be passing him by. It wasn't until the cold Arctic wind slapped him in the face that he realized that Wily had dragged him outside.

"Come on." Wily remarked calmly. "There's nothing more that you can do in there now."

"Al…They nuked it." Light stammered. "That was…"

"Radioactive fallout. I know." Wily finished bitterly. "Bits and pieces of dust that used to be buildings, cars, people, animals, and grass and trees and everything else. And it's new."

"But _why?!_" Light demanded. "Why, after the wars are over? WHO?!"

Light was moving under his own power finally, so Wily jammed his hands into his pockets and kept trudging with his comrade at his side. He affixed a sidewards glance on the man. "With nukes, Tom, does it really matter?" He gave Light a moment to let it sink in, then shook his head. "Probably somebody who never got the memo about the Armistice."

"But we have to stop it!" Dr. Light declared. "Somebody set off another bomb on Paris. If we don't do something, everything that this group might accomplish is just going to end." He pointed towards the main pavilion that they had fled from. "Inside, right now, they are tearing themselves apart! We have to find out who fired the missile, or who sent the bomb, we need to…"

"We need to do what, exactly?" Wily interrupted, giving his friend a dark and grim stare. "You and I, Tom, we're not leaders. We're just a couple of washed out has-beens, who stick around because we don't want to believe that we're useless."

"But we need to do something." Dr. Light pleaded, putting a hand on Wily's shoulder. Blue eyes looked hard into Wily's black ones, searching for some sign of agreement.

Wily turned away and shook his head. "We've done what we can. Until Mr. Grant gets back with his finished report, we're on standby. The best thing we can do right now, Tom, is just sit back and let those hotheads do what they will."

"Blast it, Albert, they're tearing each other apart in there right now!" Dr. Light exploded, eyes wide. "They're frightened, they're scared!"

"And so were you until I dragged your _verdammt_ keister out of there." Wily snapped back. "If there's one thing I've learned about humanity, it's that the more people you congregate in one spot, the less logical they become. You think I wore that superior attitude of mine in the Institute for show? It was to keep the idiots off of my back. If the two of us went back in there, they'd tear us apart. No, Thomas. I'm not about to walk back into that viper's den, and I'm sure as Hell not going to let you go in there either."

Dr. Albert William Wily was many things, but as the mad scientist stood there in the Alaskan tundra beside the only person he would ever dare call friend, Dr. Light realized he wasn't a lunatic. The statement, as callous as it was, carried a ring of truth. For now, they had to stay away from the fray. It would be the only way they could move on with any purpose.

Deflated and defeated, Dr. Light sunk his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighed. "So what do we do now?"

"I'd suggest we make tracks for the cafeteria in this place, and have ourselves another dose of prison food." Wily answered, setting off with Light half a beat behind him.

As usual, Wily's bizarre and acidic statements left Light puzzled. "What do you mean, Al? This place isn't a prison."

Dr. Wily smirked with a half-smile and tugged the sleeves of his shirt up a little higher…showing, albeit briefly, the tracking bracelet that could end his life with one quiet poisoned pinprick. "I can't leave, Tom. That sure as Hell sounds like a prison to me."

Wily trudged on in silence, still wearing the same disdaining half-smile. With nothing better to do, Light followed.

* * *

_The CTWRC Cafeteria_

"Look at us." Light sighed, finishing off his second cup of coffee. He slammed the ceramic mug on the table he and Wily were sitting at with punctuated force. "The world's falling apart and we're drinking coffee."

Wily harrumphed and stirred his chicken soup about with his spoon; he had gone through one cup himself, but had held off since then. He looked over to Light, lifting an eyebrow. "Why should it bother you? For the first time in years, we can relax and enjoy a cup of joe, even in trying times. Just think of this as time to mull things over."

Light looked down at the crumbs on his plate that used to be a chicken salad sandwich, then looked around. It was empty, save for the server and the well-mannered CTWRC benefactor named Oliver Xanthos. The unknown tycoon sat four tables away from them, calmly reading through documents of a sort on a miniaturized tablet. He smiled wanly as he finished scribbling in a few notes, and then took a scan of the room, noticing Light and Wily.

Dr. Light closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I wish you'd never brought me here."

"You don't really wish that, Tom." Albert Wily consoled his counterpart. "You're just feeling sorry for yourself, is all. Which is a rather grim attitude to take, given how bad off the rest of the world is."

"That's just it." Light replied, running a hand through his hair. "At Quesnel, the world passed me by. Life went on. I didn't know, and I didn't care. And then you showed up So yes, maybe I am feeling a little sorry for myself. And yes, I was happier back when I was waiting to die in that cabin!" He grew more agitated with every line, and he stared fiercely at Wily. "Because now, I _do_ know what's going on, and yet I still cannot do anything about it!!"

"Yet." Wily reminded him, and the sigh in his voice made it clear he was tired as acting as the voice of reason. "Yet, Tom."

"At the rate we're going…never." Light mumbled. "We get a satellite working so we can see the world again, and the first thing that everybody in this failed coalition does is start arguing about it. Maybe it's best that we die. It seems all we're capable of as a species is conflict."

The approach of Oliver Xanthos had been so slow that both scientists jumped when their curious on-site benefactor sat down beside them and smiled. "Well, I don't think that's entirely true." He said, going from Light's last comment. "We also know how to hump each other's brains out. Most days, the two cancel each other out."

"Good God, you scared me!" Wily snapped, touching the receding hairline in the middle of his head. "Do you make a habit out of scaring people?!"

If Oliver Xanthos was offended, he made no sign of it. The middle-aged man shrugged. "No, I've found that fear is a rather useless thing. Oh, would the two of you be dears and hold up your arms for a moment?"

The two scientists blinked and looked to each other, and Light raised his hands skyward with an amused smile. Wily snorted. "Oh, come on. Just what…"

He found his face slammed into the table before he could finish his sentence, and strong, but soft hands made a quick search of his body from head to toe. Light let out a yelp and looked to Wily's attacker…It was the attractive woman who he'd often seen following Mr. Xanthos about.

"Easy, Jessica. There's no need to be so rough about it." The benefactor chastised the buxom bodyguard. "He didn't understand the request, is all."

"I was charged to keep you safe, sir." Jessica Bravewind countered coldly, giving Wily one last patdown before pulling his head back up. Her search of Dr. Light was a little more gentle, given how compliant the stunned programmer had become. "It would be wise for you to leave the methods to me." She pulled back from the two and took a seat beside her charge. "Wily has something on his wrist, but other than that, sir, they're clean."

Wily pulled himself back up and glared daggers at her. _"Was ist deine Störung, Frau? Du kannst Köpfe der Leute nicht in Tabellen gerade schieben!"_

The dark-haired woman calmly smiled through her emerald eyes and tapped her fingers on the table. "I didn't catch the words, but I understood the intent."

Oliver Xanthos held up a hand and sighed. "Come on, now. There's no need for this kind of quibbling."

"Par for the course, really." Light mumbled, resting his head in his arms on the table.

"Oh, would you shut up?" Wily snapped. "Go smoke your pipe or something, you woman."

Light didn't say anything back, and Mr. Xanthos waited a few moments before arching an eyebrow. "Is this a bad time?"

"Relax." Wily grumbled, folding his arms disapprovingly. "Don't mind him, he's decided to try wearing my shoes for a while. Pisses me off."

"Heaven knows the world has a tough enough time with one acerbic cynic, eh?" Xanthos asked, standing back up. "No matter. Gentlemen, the two of you have just unleashed a bombshell on this consortium with the images that satellite can provide. I can understand why you'd wish to steer clear of it. To that end, I wish to extend an invitation to you."

Light and Wily looked up at him, and the mysterious Mr. Xanthos smiled and nodded. "Come back to my place. You could use a break."

"Sir, are you sure that that's a wise…"

"Oh, my manners are appalling." Oliver Xanthos chastised himself, also interrupting her comment. "Gentlemen, meet Jessica Bravewind. My personal assistant."

"Your bodyguard, you mean." Wily grumbled, rubbing at the sore spot on his neck where she'd manhandled him.

Jessica made no quick motion, and Xanthos smiled amicably. "Only when she is needed. Now, come on. Moping around here won't do you any good. And I just happen to have the solution to all of life's problems."

* * *

Three minutes later, Light found himself looking about a rustic and mighty lodge made from fallen timbers. In spite of the homey log cabin appearance, it carried mementos of a world all but gone. Pictures, duplicates of famous images throughout the ages, lined the wall. A map of the world hung stapled to another side. Massive tainted windows in the roof let in the full heat and light of the sun above. It even had a bearskin rug next to the living room fireplace…head included, of course.

"This…" Light began, as he summarized it all, "…Is a nice cottage."

Xanthos' voice carried in from the kitchen, where he'd scurried off to. "It's a place to hang my hat."

Albert had wasted no time in getting comfortable; he relaxed and sunk back into a synthetic leather chair, sighing as he reached to the side and set it to recline. "A La-Z-Boy? I didn't know they still made these anymore."

"It's nice to know you're getting so chummy with the locals." Light told Xanthos, ignoring Wily. "Your accommodations are tad larger than ours."

"I suppose that comes with the territory. I did, after all, provide most of the materiel for this venture." Xanthos replied. He strolled back out from the kitchen, two wine glasses in his right hand and two more in his left. "Jessica?" He waited a few moments as he set the glasses down before speaking again. "Jessica, did you find one yet?"

From a separate part of the house, the ebony-haired secretary appeared with two bottles of wine in her hand. The labels were dusty, and the brand was unknown, but Light had to only take one look at Mr. Xanthos to see the appreciation glowing in the man's eyes.

"Aah, yes. Which year is that?"

"The '36." She answered. It was obviously a good choice, because Oliver's nose wrinkled up when he smiled.

"A good choice, but you could have gone with the '32." He thanked her.

Jessica set the bottles on the table and produced an old fashioned corkscrew. "I got the impression, sir, that this was meant to be a more substantial imbibement…not a tasting."

"Aah." Mr. X blushed a bit. "Quite right, yes. Good thinking, Miss Bravewind."

"If there's nothing else, sir, I'll go and see to my other duties." She chirped stonily. The two scientists looked at one another, and then up to her as her employer put on his best pouty face.

"And ignore this bountiful harvest? Come, come, Jessica. Sit down, have a drink with us!"

"I'd rather not, sir." She answered, and her façade cracked to reveal just a hint of embarrassment. A few inscrutable emotions ran through Oliver's face, but the man sighed and waved her off.

"Very well. Go clean your tazer or whatever it is you do. We'll miss your company."

"After the third round, you won't miss your own mother." She countered, and walked away. Light and Xanthos watched her disappear, and neither said anything until Wily, true to his character, broke the silence.

"You know, Xanthos, I'd swear she was married to you if I didn't know better."

"She'd never have me." Xanthos retorted with a chuckle. He reached for the corkscrew and the first bottle. "Something about me being Greek Orthodox and her being a Judeo-Buddhist. And no, she never bothered to tell me how that worked, either." Wily chuckled from his spot in the recliner and waved off the comment.

Xanthos dug the point of the corkscrew into the wax covering the bottle's cork and set to work. "You know, fellows, in the weeks you've been here, neither of you has bothered to ask me just where exactly I procured my fortune."

"Let me guess." Wily spun a finger in the air, still not looking towards their host. "Shady arms dealing?"

The bottle slipped out of Oliver's grasp, and the Grecian barely managed to recover it with a fumble before it hit the floor. He blushed brightly and stared down at the floor. "Damn slippery things. I should have had Jessica wipe off the condensation first." He set the bottle by its brother and kept working. "Before the wars, my family turned a tidy profit as an exporter of fine wines; perhaps you've heard of the brand? Xaros Fields?" Wily offered no answer, and Light was also similarly uninformed. Oliver let it pass. "Well, never you mind. Suffice it to say that I took my share of the family fortune, and made good on several investments before the war. By the time things became hairy, I'd already set up a row of contingencies…including the supplies used by the United Nations to build this little base in the Alaskan wilderness."

"How did you know to plan for something like this?" Light asked, puzzled.

"Well, for starters, I'm excessively paranoid." Xanthos finally broke through the wax and began to turn the corkscrew's handle, digging into the sealing cork. "Secondly, I figured that money would not be nearly as useful as supplies, come a worst case scenario. And then, of course, there was that Oracle program that's run through the internet."

Wily snorted. "The what?"

"I've heard of it…" Light said faintly, trying to think back to years past. "I never touched it much, but I heard enough about it. It's a program that was developed in the early years of the 21st Century, that absorbed bits of news and information from sources all over the internet and made predictions about future events and patterns. In a way, it was sort of like Asimov's Psychohistory."

Wily finally edged the back of his seat up and stared at Light. "Tom, were you standing out in the sun too long at that cabin of yours? What kind of gibberish are you talking about?"

"You know, Isaac Asimov? The science fiction writer?" Light elaborated. "From his Foundation series?"

"I read his robot novels. I never touched the Foundation series." Albert Wily added drily.

"Never mind then." Light sighed, glad in a way he didn't have to delve any farther than his one oblique comment. To emphasize the change in topic, the cork finally popped free of the bottle, and Mr. Xanthos set about pouring three glasses of wine…setting the one earmarked for Jessica Bravewind aside for later, if need be.

"Here you go, gents. I'll warn you; this vintage is sweet and goes down easy, but take your time with it. It's powerful stuff, and it'll knock you on your back if you're not careful…" Xanthos started. The warning came too late for Light, who had already thrown back the first draught in one massive gulp.

He set the glass down onto the coffee table between the couches and chairs they sat on and looked back at the two stunned men. Wily looked genuinely surprised, and Xanthos seemed sympathetic.

"I tried to warn you, Dr. Light…"

Dr. Thomas X. Light snorted. "What? That's nothing. You should taste some of the distilled grain alcohol that the locals up in Canada can maaaaaaaaaa…"

It hit him with the force of a train packed with dry ice. The breath was sucked out of him right when his head swooned, and he collapsed onto the armrest of his couch.

Despite himself, Wily laughed and sipped delicately. "Boy, it's too bad I'm not going to remember any of this in the morning, because that's priceless."

Light, drugged as he was, pulled himself back up into a sitting position and pointed a warning finger at his comrade. "That's enough out of you, Al." His wavering finger and lazy eye moved over to Xanthos. "And don't say a word."

"Who's saying anything?" Oliver Xanthos asked innocently, smiling like a cheshire cat the entire time. He picked up the bottle. "More, Dr. Light?"

"Fill 'er up."

* * *

_Several Hours Later_

"Ohhhhhhhhh, and the people they said siddown, siddown yuh' rockun the boat, and the people they s…sai…(hic)...said siddown, siddown yuh' rockin the…"

"Siddown before you fall down." Wily barked to his very drunk friend, laughing a moment after the comment flew. The mad scientist hooted and snorted and slapped his knee as though it was the greatest joke in the world: And for how soused they were, it very well could've been.

Even Xanthos, who had held his liquor far more capably than the two comparatively stupid Americans, was fully flushed in the face, and tapping out the last dregs of what had once been a very full bottle; the second one. The first had been emptied and sent spinning across the floor a good hour ago. He watched the drops of sweet red wine fall into his cup, and then held it aloft, swaying ever so gently in the windless room. "Here's to us, gents."

Wily hoisted his own cup and managed to calm himself enough to echo the sentiment. "Here's to the Cee Tee Durbyum…I mean, the Cee Pee Double…The Free…Aah, fugghit." He finished with a mumble, downing the glass.

Light lay reclined on the couch, staring about the room through blurry red eyes that had only candlelight to aid them. "Well, I gesssh there's one good thing uhbou' Seattle being gone."

"Whuzza, Tom?"

"My credit card company was based there."

The two scientists cracked up laughing, and kept going for several seconds. It took a while before they calmed themselves down enough to keep talking.

"Hey…what were we talking about?" Wily asked.

"Your ass, I think." Light retorted. "It's ugly."

"Now jush hold on a sec…I think I've got a very nice ash, thank yew very much."

"Sure, if you're a third world refugee…"

"We're _all_ third world refugees!" Xanthos interjected, and the three men fell into hoots again.

Drunkenness is a very interesting state of existence for humans; although there's a clear medical reason for the loss of memory, it's long been mumbled about in one frame or another that it is perhaps also done so that the afflicted are doomed to repeat their errors without the shame that would go along with the stupidity. Ordinarily, none of the three men sitting in the room would ever let themselves slip that far, but as Light could attest, it had been a very rough day. The natural response, it seemed, was the opposite of reality; drunkenness to replace sobering truth.

Because of that, though, none of the men were aware of anything else happening around them. Jessica Bravewind had even wandered through the living room half an hour before, both to pick up the empty bottle they'd tossed aside and to shake her head disapprovingly at her employer's antics, and they hadn't even heard her footsteps.

That lack of awareness caught them a second time as someone from the outside trudged in, glancing about with an odd half look from the corners of his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look directly at them, because that sort of personal contact was anathema to him.

All the same, he knew full well what the three men were doing. The smell of the liquor got to him, enraged him like nothing else could. It brought up old…hurtful…memories. Something guttural came to his throat. He wanted to tell them to stop, that they were being idiots, that he was disappointed in them. He wanted to so badly, to scream all the hundreds of thoughts that came to mind, but none passed his lips. In its place came a gurgling and badly strangled slurry of consonants.

Light, oblivious to the presence of the newcomer, lifted his glass high. "To us!" He hooted, soused to the point that his sarcasm came off as jest. "_The saviors of the world_!"

That was the last straw. Before Thomas X. Light could raise it to his lips, the boy called Latchkey ran into the room, still screaming, and knocked it from Light's hand. The defiant cry ended when the glass, spiraling its all too rare elixir out in all directions, exploded on the floor into a pile of crystalline shards.

The three men stared at the boy, who stood there trembling and breathing heavily.

"…Schroeder?" Wily slurred.

"Latch." Light stammered, punctuating the silence. "Wuh…what are you doing here?"

For a change, as tears came to his eyes, Schroeder Dunlap was glad that he couldn't bring himself to stare at them. Even if he had…he wouldn't have been able to.

He stood there for a moment, perhaps two more, looking down at the drink Light would never have. Then he turned about and ran, bolting from the door and leaving the wooden gateway swinging freely behind him and the cold air seeping into the hazy warmth.

Light had the courage to speak first. "What's his prob'm?"

"Who knows?" Wily exhaled, trying to stretch out before collapsing into a stupor. "That (hic) kid's got more sc…screws loose than a hardware store."

Xanthos, the most conscious of the three, rubbed at his chin and looked to his door through murky green eyes. "He was upset, though. Maybe something you said?"

Light lay back on the couch and let his eyes shut, succumbing to the alcohol's final effect. "How can you tell?"

Jessica Bravewind made a belated appearance, dashing soundlessly through the open front door with a pistol in one hand and her tazer in the other. Xanthos waved her off with the special nod of his head he used for an all clear signal, and then looked across to the two most unpredictable men in all the CTWRC…except, perhaps, for himself.

"I made my fortunes off of my ability to read people." He answered Light. "How they think, what they feel…their weaknesses and potential."

His secretary closed the door, and her weapons had vanished as though they were never there to begin with. She walked over beside him and gave the billionare a disapproving stare, stopping only when Light's snoring rumbled through the small, but well adorned cottage.

Xanthos sighed and turned his chair about so he could look into the crackling embers of his personal fireplace; an exorbitant luxury no other building in the CTWRC complex had. "Yes. I made my fortune by cheating people from the betrayals of their faces…voices…psychoses. But it wasn't power. Now I've everything I could ever want from this dying world…save for one thing."

His voice dropped to a whisper as Jessica came to the side of his chair and rested a reassuring hand on her employer's sunken shoulder. "And now I'm giving up everything I have in the hopes I might find it."

Unseen, unheard, a still awake, and not nearly as drunk as he'd imitated Albert W. Wily stared up at the ceiling and let Xanthos' words rattle about in his brain. They stayed with him until he slept, and there, no secrets could betray him.

* * *

_11: 57 P.M._

_Cabin 24-B (Light, Wily, Latchkey, and Grant's Residence)_

Left undisturbed by passing scientists, the boy known as Latchkey stormed from the posh cabin of Oliver Xanthos and wandered back to his own cabin…a place that he lived in with Wily and Light.

Latchkey had not had the best of days; Light had left mid-project, and he'd been jostled around to no end after that.

He'd heard the voices of the others. They were loud and confusing, and he'd screamed right back at them as he ran away. A few people had even touched him, grabbed him. He hated that most of all.

Latch was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He knew his real name was Schroeder. He knew where he was, and what he was doing. As he slammed open his cabin door and wandered inside, glancing about the room from the corner of his eye, he even knew how much of a stupid thing Light and Wily were doing…drinking, while the world died around them.

By no fault of his own, Latchkey saw the world through unemotional and detached eyes. The one thing he didn't understand, that he never really had, was people. Maybe it was why he preferred to stare at computers, screens, the digital world. There, within the glowing screens that he existed in, everything lived in absolutes. On and off. Ones and zeroes. Things worked according to an order, predictable, expected. People were random. They were chaotic and frustrating. He had thought that maybe Light was different.

As he slammed the door and the outside chill away, the disappointment of the truth clouded everything. Outside of the faint and welcoming glow of his laptop screen, there was the quiet darkness, and Latch let it seep into him to calm his nerves. When nobody came after him, the boy looked around and began to rationalize. It was made easier only because he had the solitude he thrived on.

_Light…_The man was a dreamer. He carried himself as a man covered in scars, but underneath it, he was who he was. It was that spark that had made him likable in the first place.

The images that the satellite had thrown back were plenty disturbing…Maybe Light had taken it harder than he had, Latch thought. That could explain a few things. After all, people who became emotional didn't think straight.

Latch grunted to himself, nodding his tilted head. That could certainly explain it. So Light had become emotional. Therein was the problem. Even Wily, who never bothered to try talking to him, was more predictable…nearly programmed in his own responses, really.

For their work to succeed…for their small part of the rebuilding work to succeed…Latch realized he needed to understand more about Light. More about who he was. Why he acted the way he did, the source of his emotions.

The boy first did his discreet inquiries through the local CTWRC netframes…and found only what little he had known before. Light had worked for a year as the member of the U.S. Institute of the Sciences in Redmond, and disappeared shortly before the wars began in 2040. Presumed lost…until Wily, of all people, a former rival, had discovered him hiding in the Canadian wilderness. Light was extremely multilingual, and had been involved in communications before the last seven years happened. That explained why he was here. Though there wasn't much else on him, there was the suggestion that Light had been on the verge of a breakthrough…

And then, nothing.

Latchkey stared at the end of his information, racking his brain for where there could be more. In different circumstances, he would have found that much information perfectly acceptable. But none of that…none of that at all, helped him to answer the more pressing questions.

What drove Dr. Thomas Xavier Light? And why?

Angrily, he pounded the side of his bed, so as to not damage his precious laptop. The blow was still hard enough that it disturbed the many packages of Twinkies he kept on hand to curb his hunger pangs, courtesy of the CTWRC's supplies division. The wrapped twin snack cakes flew off the side and down onto the floor, dancing away from his bedside. Latchkey winced and swore silently at himself, then put his laptop aside. No…getting angry wasn't the solution. It wouldn't help him crack Light any more than his other methods.

He scooted onto the floor and looked around for the missing treat. He spotted the golden yellow sponge cake easily enough in the dim light of the room; it had come to rest next to Light's bed.

He pushed himself towards it and reached to pick it up. His hand froze clenched tightly around it, because his eyes had locked on something else.

Underneath Light's bed…some kind of a suitcase, or a travel bag of some kind. Latch wasn't sure which, as he'd never used one before, but he'd seen them.

Light's bag. Which, the hacker savant thought quickly, surely had a few personal items that belonged to him. And personal items…

The thought froze, and Latch began hitting his head with the flat of his palm repeatedly. The ongoing stimulation calmed him down and allowed him to reach his epiphany.

Personal items…Told you about someone's personality. About what was important to them.

_U want to no Lite…st4rt h3r. _

With shaking hands, Latchkey pulled out the personal luggage of Dr. Light and unzipped the side. A few extra pairs of clothes were pulled out and carelessly thrown on the bed, because there had to be more, he was sure…

And underneath all the mostly homespun shirts, Latch's hands found the real deal.

In the darkness, a pack of Twinkies lying forgotten beside him, Latchkey smiled and began to sift through Light's things.

He was at last going to learn about what made the man tick.

* * *

_The CTWRC Cafeteria_

_May 21__st__, 2047 C.E._

_8:13 A.M._

"Well, you're finally awake." Darwin Vinkus cracked as a rather frazzled looking Light and Wily tottered into the cafeteria. "For a while there, I thought you'd gone AWOL."

"My head feels like it did." Dr. Light responded, groaning softly. "Do you still have some coffee left? I could use a cup or three."

Vinkus let his head sink down again and motioned to the line. "Sure, it's not like you don't deserve a final request."

"Is that a threat, or a criticism?" Dr. Wily pondered aloud, staying put beside Vinkus' table while Light tottered towards his liquid cure.

The roboticist finally noticed the ashen appearance of their UN contact. Vinkus took a good while to reorient his thoughts, and then looked at Wily with a terribly grim expression. "Paris was nuked…the U.N. temporary European headquarters went with it. Now we have no international strength stationed there, and STILL no way to contact anyone." Vinkus lowered his hand to the table and clenched it into a fist. "After all, you're too busy getting drunk with that aloof Xanthos to do what you were assigned here for, am I right?"

Wily had heard worse insults in his time, and felt no urge to argue against this one either. After all, the opinion of the shrewd Darwin Vinkus meant little to him.

Albert scratched under his chin. "Titus Grant should be arriving later today with a compiled report. We plan on going from there." The scientist said it with such a lack of emotion, such an even temperament, it sounded as more of an offhanded remark than an answer.

Vinkus scoffed in reply. "So because your teammate hasn't finished a report to a now defunct leadership, you decided it was all right to hit the sauce?"

Wily realized the man's anger stemmed from more than one source; Vinkus was a politician, but he was a novice one…and he wore his feelings on his sleeve. "Light was useless yesterday anyhow. The news about all those places being gone knocked him out. Getting him out of there was the only reasonable solution…and as for the wine, you'll have to take that up with Mr. Xanthos."

"Believe me, I plan on it." Vinkus said warningly. "The world is dying, people are starving to death and being poisoned, and he has the gall to waste valuable cargo space on wines? It's outright stupidity!"

"Although, in his defense, those were HIS transport ships that hauled in the supplies." Wily offered. "Considering that, you might consider giving him the benefit of the doubt. And while we're at it, you might consider letting us off, too."

Vinkus stared at Wily, stunned that the mad scientist didn't seem the least bit fazed or chastened. "Who in the Hell do you think you are?"

Wily leaned down over the table and put his face uncomfortably close to Vinkus'. "Now, you see, there I'm not quite sure. An unsentenced convict, for one. According to others, a terrorist. A genius, indubitably, but a mad scientist to boot. But for right now, you need to remember two things. One…My life has been expendable for years now. There is nothing you can do to me that will coerce me to change my ways. I will do as I see fit, and move to make a helping impact whenever possible, and if you WANT that help, I suggest you get off your high horse."

Vinkus' eyes widened, but he said nothing, and Wily continued. "Two," He breathed, making sure that the U.N. Representative could feel his breath, "I would probably be correct in assuming that this particular pulpit sermon stems from the fact you've had to field grounders all night because of Paris, but you can get over that right now. My own experience notwithstanding, Dr. Light had every reason he had for living torn from him seven years ago. The only reason he's here is because I made the decision, for better or worse, to seek him out and ask him to come along. By some twist, he decided that he wasn't done wasting time yet, and so here he is. At any given time, he's one bad day away from doing something incredibly stupid with his existence, which would be very bad for you and for this project, because like it or not, you _NEED HIM_. You may not need me, but you _DO_ need him. So the next time I decide to let Xanthos get him plastered to keep him from putting another hole in his head, you can just cut the man a little frigging slack." Wily's stormy eyes burned holes into Vinkus' retinas. "Are we clear?"

Vinkus managed to swallow as he slowly creaked his head up and down. Wily eased back and twirled the edge of his mustache. "We're going to get back to work this afternoon. I imagine you'll want to try and get a functioning comm net up and running first, so I'll tell Light that's where we should start. Any questions?" Vinkus' head shook this time, and Wily gave the man an award winning smile. "Fantastic. We'll catch you tonight then…boss."

Without another word, Wily turned about and walked over to Light, guiding his partner to a new table. The still groggy Light followed along hesitantly. "Hey…weren't we going to sit with Vinkus?" He asked.

Wily sat him down and shook his head. "He wanted to be left alone. So, you want those pancakes of theirs or some egg casserole?" He motioned to the line.

"Ugh. Pancakes. Eggs in the morning give me cramps." Light grumbled, taking a long and much needed sip of his sobering coffee. As Wily was standing up, Light looked over to Vinkus, who still sat there with a flabbergasted expression. "Hey, what's wrong with him, Al?"

Wily shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and turned to retrieve their breakfast. "Who knows? Maybe he found something hard to swallow."

* * *

_2:23 P.M._

_Cabin 24-B_

"Oi! I feel like I've been gone forevah!" Titus Grant yawned, walking into the cabin and throwing his things on his bed. Wily and Light looked relieved to see him, but there were no smiles on their faces. Grant himself even seemed less chipper.

He nodded to Latchkey, who calmly munched away on a Twinkie and paid him little notice, then turned to his communicative partners. "All right, then. Something big's happened, and I don't know what exactly, so one of the two of you'd best explain it to me before I make a right fool of myself."

Sitting at one of the room's two desks, Wily nodded to him slowly. "You recall that spy satellite we found?"

"Yeah. You blokes were going to get it running again while I was finishing up the preliminary report. Did it work?"

"We got it working. We just didn't like what we saw." Wily answered. He paused before adding, "Paris…doesn't exist anymore. It took the temporary U.N. Headquarters with it."

Titus froze, then wobbled for a few moments before he righted himself and shook his head with a sigh. "Well, that explains things. I finished the report, but I didn't get to give it."

From where he was resting on his bed, Light slowly eased himself into a sitting position and stared at the Australian. "You didn't? Why not?"

"These yanks took me down to Juneau, where I was supposed to meet with the United Nations contingent…but they ended up doing all the talking. And they've given us a new goal."

Wily winced. "That can't be good…how bad?"

"They want us to restore some kind of global communications. Soon."

Light stared at Grant, hoping for a lenient response. "How soon?"

Titus took a moment to compose himself. "Four days."

"By _Christ_, four days?!" Light exploded in enough of a panic that he winced and had to lie back down. "Ohhhh…oh, they're crazy."

Wily, who still remained more in control of his faculties than Light had been for two days now, picked up on something else than Light's disbelief. "Such an exact number…?" He mused aloud, looking to Grant. "Why?"

Titus shook his head. "To be honest, I…"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. The men looked to the entrance of their small cabin, where a gentleman in a frayed dress suit and slicked back black hair stood watching them. Like most of the others at the CTWRC, he looked tired. There was grief in his eyes, too.

"That is because in _quatre_ days…the French Air Force is dispatching their nuclear bombers to take revenge on those they believe began the attack on Paris." The man told them, his English precise, but the accent leaving no doubt as to his French origins. "After that…it will not matter. So please. Please…have it done so by then, eh?"

Titus' lips thinned to a white line, and Wily merely nodded. The news finally did what nothing else had in the day for Dr. Thomas X. Light.

The bearded communications expert bowed his head to the man, and when he looked up again, a goal burned in his heart and in his eyes.

A goal…gave him something to distract himself with. A goal gave him a purpose. A goal gave him something to live for.

"We cannot fail." Dr. Light told the man. "_Bonne chance, mes amis."_

The man smiled faintly at the farewell, then turned and left, closing the door behind him.

"That was Ambassador Michel Lemieux." Grant told his comrades, a few seconds later. "He came with me."

"Has he been assigned here?" Wily asked.

Grant shook his head. "No. He just didn't have a home to go back to."

* * *

_2:26 P.M._

"Representative Lemieux, it's an honor to have you here."

The Frenchman had walked past the noise of the construction equipment until he'd reached the larger building marked as temporary CTWRC headquarters. Now inside the office of a "Darwin Vinkus, U.N.", he found a proper greeting.

The two gentlemen shook hands, and Vinkus motioned for the man to take a seat by his desk. "I apologize for the intrusion…this seemed the safest place for now." Lemieux said. "Are you the person in charge of this place?"

Vinkus shook his head. "No, thank God. I've got my hands full just being the United Nations on-site representative. Rebecca June, who's out supervising the build of our eventual headquarters, is the person you're thinking of. She'll be able to get you lodgings here at the CTWRC." Vinkus pressed his fingertips together. "So, how long were you planning on staying here, anyhow?"

"I was only supposed to see to the CTWRC before returning home, but now I have very little of a home left to return to." The man pursed his lips and shook his head sadly. "If only they had known the war was over…"

"They?" Darwin Vinkus asked, lifting an eyebrow. "You know who is responsible?"

"I have a good idea who." Lemieux nodded. "Shortly before the Canberra Treaty was signed, we had dealt a heavy blow to a coordinated group of state-sponsored militants in northern Africa. They called themselves the Legion of Muhammad…they were, more or less, a mercenary group called upon by the Islamic governments of those provinces to root out all foreign influence. My government had thought their threat was ended when we stamped out their armored divisions and army in Morocco…" Lemieux paused. "Now, it seems, we were wrong."

"But the war ended more than a month ago." Vinkus objected. "Why would they shoot now?"

Lemieux sighed. "I wish I knew. Perhaps they struck back in revenge…though it is more likely that they are acting under orders. For all their militaristic fanaticism, the Legion was a professional force. They do not act without orders…and they would not take revenge for such a solid defeat." He pursed his lips. "It is beneath them."

Vinkus raised an eyebrow. "You seem to know a lot about them."

"I was a psychiatrist for the military before my government recruited me to this post. They seemed to think that somebody of my bearing would give weight and credibility to the office. Part of my job was evaluating military forces and their motivations…ours, and theirs."

"So you think they acted without knowledge of the war's end?"

"We all but eliminated their strength; it would have taken them a while to rebuild for an operation large enough to wipe out Paris. If they had standing orders from a sponsoring nation beforehand, and operated with an ongoing understanding…or worse, if a nation called in the hit…"

Vinkus could see the variations play out in Lemieux's worried face, but all of it was brought back to one point.

"Four days." Lemieux murmured.

"How do you know it will be four days?" Vinkus asked. "We cannot reach France from here."

"I evaluated them." Lemieux answered with a sigh. "Four days…that is how long it took in trials to transfer our remaining nuclear arsenal to the DeGaulle airbase, prepare the flights, and launch. We must find a way to reach my countrymen and the Legion of Muhammad in four days, or else…"

Vinkus closed his eyes. "Or else the Wars…will start up again. And this time, there really will be nothing left."

* * *

_The CTWRC Main Pavilion_

_May 23__rd__, 2047 C.E._

_10:47 A.M._

The Pavilion had been commandeered by Dr. Light and the others the very same afternoon that Titus Grant and Representative Lemieux had arrived. Ever since then, the expansive meeting hall had blossomed into a mess of rolling whiteboards and smartboards, all scribbled on with alphanumeric gibberish. It took a trained eye to realize that the garbled message was anything but.

At his laptop, Latchkey watched a schematic of the earth, with tiny dots rotating around it: Satellites, all from different powers, different nations…Different times. His eyes flickered to the window every so often, correlating and checking their identities with the pass-over of a cursor, which brought up their nationality and accessible data.

At his own seat, Light chewed furiously on the end of his pipe, puffing away as though there were no tomorrow…which, he reminded himself, there very well might not be. He and Wily had the same posture at their own consoles, typing away furiously in a mad dash to access and activate the satellites. It was a task done at breakneck, reckless, and without the thoughtful pace that both were used to working at. The snags were tremendous, though.

Many satellites were civilian; owned by telecommunications businesses which had ceased to exist during the course of the war, or had been nationalized. With the rare exception, those were the easiest to crack, for civilian telecommunications were meant to be easy. The only problem was that many of those satellites were old; archaic. This made them easy to access…but all but impossible for the kind of linking they needed.

Titus Grant charged in from outside, a folder of papers held tight against his chest. "OI!" He called out, getting their attention. "I just got back from Vinkus, he was able to drag up a few more satellite access keys for us!"

Wily leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, wincing at the crack his neck gave off. "How many more?"

"Seven. A few observational satellites registered to the United States from a while back, and some decommissioned, but still orbiting State Department satellites."

"Damnit, we don't need old satellites, we need them ALL!!" Light slammed a fist down on his metal desk, startling everyone in the room including Latchkey, who squeaked out a shocked gasp before starting to rock back and forth again for the third time in the day.

Grant and Wily looked to Light, Grant flabbergasted and Wily strangely sympathetic. Light breathed heavily, a faint line of smoke rising up from his pipe as he chewed on it even harder.

"Well…I mean, Thomas, it's not like all the satellites that were up there before still are. A lot got shot down." Grant shook his head. "Besides…some of the satellites up there aren't the kind we need for this. What would a pulse laser emitter do for us, the ones that _might_ be left?" He walked over and set the new information down beside Latchkey. The boy rocked back and forth a few more times, and then finally snatched it away to add it to their growing records. "Besides, you still haven't cracked the most important problem."

Light exhaled and sat back down at his monitor. "I know. Christ, you don't think I know?" The small pack of tobacco in his pipe finished its transformation to ashes and burned out, and he tapped out the remnants into a nearby ashtray.

The team had been working at a feverish pace since Grant's return, and though his report had helped them to compile the known satellites of the time and give them a starting point, none of them had slowed down in the slightest. Time was not on their side, and they all wore their fatigue openly. Latchkey, in particular, had become even more withdrawn than before, not even talking to Light through their chat program except for a quick 'k' and question every now and then. Under different circumstances, Light might have placed that seclusion as something more than weariness, but where they were, he missed the cues.

"They need us to rebuild the global communication lines." Light spoke gravely, sinking into his chair and rubbing his forehead. "Only thing is, most of the ground lines…even the trans-ocean lines…are dead. All we have left are satellites, but they're so different from each other, coded differently, programmed differently, controlled by so many nations that forcing them into one cohesive group is something that would take longer than the time we have left."

Wily blinked a few times, a nugget of an idea worming its way around inside his enigmatic skull. "We can reach them, though, right?"

Grant nodded. "Yeah, you bet we can! We don't have these access codes for nothing!"

"Even with that, to provide a stable connection, we'll need to have the satellites in a proper alignment, and able to speak to each other. But some of these models…they were only communicative to a ground control." Light pointed out.

"So?" Wily rebutted. "Does that mean they don't have the ability to send signals elsewhere?"

Light thought about it for a moment, mentally tallying off in his head the known ground-only satellites and comparing the equipment he knew they had. A full half minute later, he looked to Wily and shook his head. "…They could."

Wily kept his momentum. "So we reposition these things, as best we can. We activate their dormant systems and provide an uplink to other satellites about them, and we've got a spider's web in space."

"A spider's web made of different kinds of thread, though." Light protested. "And that's still our biggest problem, Al! The mechanics of it…Yes, the mechanics we can fix. We can temporarily arrest degrading orbits to some degree or another, and we can make it possible for them to uplink to one another, but they still won't be able to TALK!" Light waved a hand around for emphasis. "It'll be the same as it is here. We have all these scientists, from all the far corners of the former world, come under the pretense of saving it, but we still can't _talk _to one another! You've seen how this crisis has changed things! The French look at anybody with a hint of Middle Eastern or Islamic descent with absolute hatred. Projects have STOPPED. Vinkus hasn't slept in so long, he's beginning to see things, and even the construction crew at the main site…they've slowed to a crawl."

"And is that what you want to do, then?!" Wily shouted at his comrade. "Curl up and die?! So Paris got nuked. As if I cared! Nearly everywhere else did as well. You keep looking for excuses, because you've already given up, and you know something? You're a coward for thinking like that."

Light winced at the tremendous psychological attack, and yet Wily pressed on. The fatigue had taken its toll, and the last cords of sympathy had snapped. "The world's gone to Hell. Get over it. Paris disappeared in the blink of an eye. So what. Right now, you're so far gone, you can't realize that instead of worrying about why, or feeling sorry for yourself, you should be putting that blessed mind of yours to work coming up with a solution to the problem at hand!"

"So you're saying I don't deserve sympathy, or understanding?"

"_You…You SELFISH BASTARD!" _Wily screamed, slamming his fist on his desk. "Seven years! I gave you _seven YEARS_ to cry your miserable guts out! And then, three days ago, I let Xanthos get you bombed out of your skull, because I thought it would help you to get out of your funk. But the only thing that that's seemed to do is let you sink deeper. Maybe what I should have done was beat your face in until you snapped out of it! After all, wasn't that always your solution with me?!"

Light stared up numbly at Wily, the shock finally doing what nothing else had been able to since the spy satellite started working…Crack his shell.

"You…" He started hoarsely, pausing to cough and lick his lips. "You're right."

At his computer, Latchkey stopped typing. Over by the whiteboards, Titus Grant looked over and raised an eyebrow. Wily merely stared, still fuming, but the rage was draining out of him.

"You're right." Light repeated, looking down to the floor out of shame. "I can't give up. You've got to be tired of bearing my yoke."

"Damn tired." Wily agreed tersely, but without the anger. "When did you decide you got to be the cynic?"

Light shook his head. "I don't know. But if we're going to do this, neither of us can afford to be a cynic, can we?" He raised his head up as he spoke and looked to Albert Wily for confirmation. Wily nodded quickly, and looked to Grant. The Australian cracked a smile and laughed a bit.

"Blimey, you two blokes had me worried there for a bit. All right. So we've still got the same problem, I figure. We can set up the satellites, but how are we going to get them to work together?"

"For it to be seamless, they'd need to use the same software." Dr. Light started, putting out the simple solution. "Unfortunately, the time it would take us to write one would be longer than the deadline by two days at the least. Time we don't have. Again."

Wily rubbed at his chin and looked to Light, slowly shaking his head. "You're forgetting something, Tom. There's already a program developed which could do exactly that."

Light paused his thinking, and looked to Albert quizzically. "There is? Where?"

Wily kept rubbing at his chin, to stop the trembling in his heart.

He knew Light…or he had, at least. This new persona Light had developed…it frightened him, made the bear of a man unpredictable. The old Light, he could venture the proposition without question.

Now, though, the future of the world…

Hung on Albert Wily's belief that the man sitting in front of him was as methodical…and cautious…as he had been eight years before.

Wily looked over to Light, afraid to blink as their eyes met. "We have a program." Albert said to Thomas slowly, "…If you kept it."

Light wondered at first what manner of hallucinogens Wily had been tormented with during his confinement…

But then, the veil and haze of his last seven years parted, and Light suddenly recalled with a strangled gasp what Wily meant.

_Alpha._

"The Network." Light whispered, looking to Wily for confirmation.

The mad scientist of the Institute nodded, too strained to do much else. "And did you keep it?"

Light's breath came heavy, and his memory didn't fail him. "I kept everything." He answered dully. "But…Did I bring it?"

He stood up, and shakily made his way to the door.

His team…Latchkey included, from the corner of his eye…watched him depart.

* * *

_Cabin 24-B_

"Please…Oh, please, God, let me be as much of a packrat as I hope to be…"

The cabin door slammed into the wall, and Light burst inside, skidding along his knees as he dropped to the side of his bed.

Feverishly, he yanked his suitcase out and snapped the clasps. "Be in here." He panted, out of breath from the dash. The lid was thrown back, and the opened suitcase stared up at him. He paused for a moment, looking at the clothing piled on top.

"Odd…Thought I put my shirts in last…" He muttered, pulling out his trousers and throwing them over his bed. The rest of his clothes followed, and there at the bottom, padded with a threadbare towel, were his external hard drives, one very special flash drive…and an old, but not yet faded photograph.

It was the one he had had taken with Vanessa Tercel, long ago. It had been jostled some, but it was intact, and perfect as it had ever been.

Light fought back the tears that came with remembering and nodded his head. "I remember you." He whispered to the memory of her. "And I won't forget who I am again." He traced the picture, and heard the illusion of her voice echo his own conscience.

_If you don't do it, Thomas…who will?_

Dr. Light shut his eyes, and along with the thought of her came memories of his failure, Wily's failure with the GAIDNs, seven years prior. "Maybe…maybe this time…we can prevent the world from going to Hell."

His hand closed around the flash drive, tightening into a fist.

They were running out of time.

He ran back the way he came, and still he left the door open.

* * *

Grant paced back and forth across the floor of the pavilion, carrying enough tension for the three of them, and still having enough left besides. "Did he find it?" He asked Wily, stopping and turning to the wild-haired genius.

Albert Wily wiggled his comically large and black mustache back and forth to stop a sneeze, and shook his head. "If he finds it, he finds it. If he doesn't, then we have to build something like it from the ground up and hope he memorized the code."

"Crikey." Grant moaned, pacing again. Wily exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes, then looked over to Latchkey. The boy seemed comparatively unruffled; now on his second pack of Twinkies, he'd calmed down enough that he wasn't rocking in his seat anymore.

"Of course, it would be better if you did have it, Tom." Wily mumbled. "The hope of the world is riding on whether or not you brought it here, or left it at that Godforsaken cabin in the wilderness…" He laughed at the cruelty of the situation, his own form of stress relief coming in an inappropriate stretch.

The main doors of the pavilion swung open with a metallic creak in the Alaskan cold, and Wily and Grant jerked their heads to the noise.

There in the doorway, an out of breath Thomas Light stood with his hands clenched at his sides. His partners watched him, hoping, praying, and unable to ask whether or not he had…

Dr. Light smiled, held his right hand up, and opened it.

A flash drive, old and from a happier time, and with the promise of a tomorrow, stared at them.

Grant let out a triumphant whoop. Wily sunk into his chair and wore the smile of a man given his life back. And over at his own table, turned away from the others, Schroeder Dunlap smiled and opened up his chat program, typing in a message.

**Latchkey: **W3lcum bak, Lite. W3lcum bak.

* * *

_The CTWRC Main Pavilion_

_May 24__th__, 2047 C.E._

_11:43 P.M._

"Remind me, why in the blazes are we up here dead tired, this late at night, when the deadline to stop this thing was tomorrow?" Titus mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. Representative Lemieux and Darwin Vinkus were close at hand, and while there were others from the CTWRC inside the pavilion, they were kept at a distance, watching silently and hoping for the best.

Over at his own station, watching a schematic of their patchwork satellite network and praying that it would hold, Wily glanced over. "Because right now, in France and in northern Africa, it's ten hours ahead of us, and it's nine in the morning on the 25th. We can only pray that the French decided to sleep in." He looked back to the layout and winced. "Damnit…Tom, forcing the synchronization dropped nearly 18 percent of our satellite network into degrading orbits."

At his own console beside Latchkey, Thomas Light accessed the old spy satellite that had started the entire debacle and guided it to home in on the southern border of France. "So what are you saying, Al? We're going to lose our satellites? When?"

Wily ground his teeth. "Blast it, you think I know?! You want an exact answer, get somebody who messed with satellites!"

Titus thought on that for a moment. "Hold on, lads, I think I might know someone who…OI, SHALER!"

The crowd assembled at the back of the pavilion parted, and a fellow wearing a thick sweater cautiously stepped up to them, tugging on his trimmed beard. "J'es?" The man asked, in a thick Spanish accent.

Titus Grant smiled to the swarthy Spaniard. "Fellas, meet Doctor Georges Shaler. He was with the European Union's space program before the wars, so he told me."

The man bowed politely. "I pronounce it Hor-Hay, if j'oo please. It ees a pleasure to meet j'oo all." He said cheerfully. "But what can I do for j'oo?"

Having the sensation that there was little time to spare, Wily stood up and pushed the man into his seat. "You ever work with maintaining satellite orbits before?"

"All the time." Dr. Shaler answered, looking to the screen and whistling. "_Ay caramba…_" He motioned to four satellites spread out about the formation designed to blanket the entire earth with communications potential, however slight. "These four are going to drop in four days, at their rate of descent."

"You're sure about that?" Wily asked him, looking for clarity. "They won't drop sooner?"

"…Two days, at the soonest." Dr. Shaler answered, after scrutinizing them farther. He looked at the schematic of the satellite network and whistled. "This is quite fantastic. And this…will work?"

"Hopefully." Wily mumbled. "We couldn't replace all the code; we didn't dare risk the altitude programs, so we kept the original OS onboard the satellites for directional control. We installed a new OS to run in the background and do the important task…route communications seamlessly, and translate on the fly."

"Translate?"

"As in, if we can reach the French air force, they will hear us speaking to them in French, and we will hear them speaking to us in English, regardless." Light answered, not looking away from his screen.

Shaler's eyes widened. "Such a thing…such a feat is possible?"

Wily smirked a bit. "Dr. Light made it possible eight years ago. The world just wasn't ready for it then." He lifted his head up. "All right, Tom. Dr. Shaler thinks that the grid will hold for another two days, at least."

"Two days." Light mused, watching the live image come into focus. "If we can't do this in the next hour, two days won't make much difference at all."

Up on the screen, a projected image of the northern edge of the Mediterranean finally finished loading. Above it, the shoreline of Europe glistened in the daylight.

And then the bombers flew over it.

"_Scheisse!"_ Wily snarled, fighting back his panic. "They've already taken off!"

"Not good." Ambassador Lemieux muttered, looking worriedly at the planes. "Those are our old bombers…they're carrying cruise missiles. With those, they can strike at their target as soon as they hit the African coast."

"And how long will it take them to cross the Mediterranean?"

Lemieux shook his head. "…Fifteen minutes."

The silence in the pavilion was palpable. Darwin Vinkus finally stepped up and tapped Light on the shoulder, staring into the scientist's eyes to get his attention. "Then we don't have any time to spare. Make the call."

Light reached down to his laptop. "Pray this holds, then." He answered softly.

**BriteLite: **Latch? We've got 15 minutes to make a miracle happen. Can you route a signal from the CTWRC to French Air Command?

**Latchkey: **On it.

The boy took one last bite of his Twinkie, and chewed on it furiously as his fingers went to work. Light reached for a wireless headset and motioned for Lemieux to come over. When the Frenchman was close enough, Light pushed him into his chair and strapped the headset over his head. "When Latch gets the signal through, you'll need this to talk to them. And please…stop them."

Lemieux nodded. "I will try. I think they will be surprised to hear from me…"

"See you, you mean." Light corrected him, motioning to a small lens hidden in the top of his computer monitor. Lemieux lifted an eyebrow, stunned.

"See…? But, we have not had visual telecommunications in…"

"We must have watched too many episodes of MacGyver on DVD when we were little." Wily countered, watching a line beginning to trace through the patchwork satellite network. "We didn't have any chewing gum, but we're working with scrap here. The trick is, nobody else is using these. That tends to help. You wanted the translation matrix set to French, right?"

"That's correct, Al. Let's hope it takes." Light affirmed, and Wily put in the parameters.

Latchkey let out a strange grunt and raised his hand in the air…The screen of Light's computer flickered, and its embedded speakers let out an old fashioned telephone ring.

It rang three times before someone picked up…and seconds passed before the sound of someone raising the receiver to their ear sounded. "Hello?" Came the curious voice, translated almost instantaneously to audible English. "Who is this?"

Light, Wily, and Grant shared a triumphant grin of success. The voice, although French, had been translated just as Light's old program allowed for. The network of satellites, as thrown together as it was…was working. They allowed themselves only a moment of celebration before turning back to their tasks. It was their job now to sustain the signal, and in the case of Light, to track the outgoing jets.

They had done their jobs, and now it was up to the politicians.

* * *

"This is Ambassador Michel Lemieux. Have I reached the Air Command?"

"…Ambassador?" The voice on the other end spoke, surprised to hear him. "Where are you?"

"I am speaking to you from Alaska…I am at the World Reclamation Consortium."

"…They built it in Alaska?" The voice started. "Wait a minute. How can you be speaking to me from Alaska?"

"Long story short, some very talented people here managed to get a lot of satellites working together. Who am I speaking with?"

"…This is General Moreau Gatin; leader of the French Air Command."

The Ambassador looked to Vinkus, and the young U.N. Representative nodded; a stroke of luck, if there ever was one.

"General, I know about the destruction of Paris."

The General grunted in surprise. "How? No communi…wait a moment."

Lemieux nodded. "Yes, General…they were able to get some old monitoring satellites working as well. It is how I know about Paris, and also how I know that I must ask you to recall those bombers you have sent out."

There was silence, and the voice returned, now guarded, slightly hostile as well. "Oh? And why would I do that?"

"You are sending them to attack whatever is left of the Legion of Muhammad. But you cannot. If you do that, you will restart the Wars!"

"They restarted the Wars, Ambassador…if this is who you say you are." The General clipped curtly. "They have attacked the City of Love with a nuclear weapon. There can be only one response."

"General, you cannot do this!" Representative Lemieux exploded. The terror in his voice was evident to all within earshot. "If those bombers fire their nuclear missiles, you will be responsible for starting the Wars all over again!"

"The Legion started…"

"NO!" Lemieux screamed. "They did not know, General! They did not know the Wars were over!"

General Gatin laughed, incredulous. "Are you serious? How could they not know? More than a month has passed since the Canberra Treaty was signed."

Ambassador Lemieux groaned and drew his hands over his face. "What would it take to convince you that the right solution doesn't involve shooting those missiles?"

The General's voice was silent for a moment. "I would want to hear their leaders' response to the Canberra Treaty…and look into their eyes when they apologized and offered penance." He paused for effect, and pushed on, emboldened. "Of course, as such a thing is impossible in the minutes that are left, our conversation is at an end."

Vinkus threw Light a panicked look, and the scientist read through his expression with perfect clarity.

Light looked over to Wily. "Can the system handle a live video feed? A teleconference? With a second connection in Arabic?"

Wily snorted disappointedly. "With the bandwidth at our disposal? Hell, Tom. We could broadcast the entire Star Wars saga in high definition and still have space to spare."

"Titus, help Al get it prepped then." Light announced boldly. He nodded to Vinkus. "We just became a TV studio."

Vinkus turned to Ambassador Lemieux and whispered a set of instructions, and Light turned to his machine. There was one last order to be given.

**BriteLite: **Latch? I need you to prep a three-way Teleconference. Can you do it?

**Latchkey: **Yez. hoo r we t4lkn to?

**BriteLite: **The Headquarters of the Legion of Muhammad…they should be stationed somewhere in the Sahara.

**Latchkey:** Kan u b mor secifik?

**BriteLite: **Yeah. Draw a line from where those bombers are along their flight path.

**Latchkey: **That helpz. I jst hop tehy r lizn.

Latchkey's fingers started flying again, and Light sighed. "I hope they are too, son. I hope they are too."

"I wouldn't hang up yet, General." Ambassador Lemieux snapped quickly, fueled by Vinkus' prodding. "There is something I must show you first."

General Gatin snorted. "And what would that be, precisely?"

Up on the main viewscreen, the image of the nuclear equipped bombers was narrowed to the bottom half of the screen. In the top half…

A wizened, gray-haired General Gatin appeared, stunned and startled as the image of Ambassador Lemieux, and everyone else close by, was transmitted to him.

"You…" Gatin started.

Lemieux nodded. "Yes. We. The World Reclamation Consortium. We are in the fight of our lives to save this planet. We cannot afford to lose all our hard work and progress now for the sake of vengeance."

"Neither can I stand idly by and let this atrocity go unanswered!" The General thundered.

A loud beeping interrupted the tirade, and a tired looking, bearded Middle Eastern man dressed in Bedouin's robes appeared. The screen divided a step farther, splitting the top half between Gatin and the new individual.

"How…" The newcomer blinked in shock, looking at the two men who were sharing in the teleconference. Not even his Arabic escaped the translation protocols. Above all, his emotion was surprise. "Who is this? How did you reach me?"

Taking advantage of Gatin's stunned silence, Lemieux began. "My name is Ambassador Michel Lemieux of France, and we must talk quickly, or all is lost."

The Bedouin started at the name and country given to him, but marveled at the quick response. "Where did you learn Arabic? Your accent is…stilted…but it is still very good."

"The wonders of modern technology." Lemieux answered, giving the man a faint smile. "You hear me speaking in Arabic, I hear you speaking in English…and General Gatin hears you in French. Who am I speaking to?"

"Hassam al-Hamal." The man announced curtly, looking to the General with a fair amount of caution. "Now, perhaps you can tell me why you are calling, when it should be impossible for this kind of talk to happen in our wartorn age?"

General Gatin jumped in before the Ambassador could phrase his first syllable. "Hamal, you are a member of the Legion of Muhammad?"

"I am its leader." Hamal replied smoothly. "And you, General?"

"I am the head of the French Air Command. Tell me, Mr. Hamal, were you responsible for the nuclear attack on Paris?"

Hamal froze for a moment, but nodded, his face darkening. "We were. It was our last assigned mission from the Council of Egypt, to avenge their defeat at Suez. We remain warriors of the Prophet's cause in this unceasing war."

General Gatin stared back at Hamal, who simply folded his hands together and waited expectantly for an answer. Gatin was being tested, Light realized from his station. The air in the pavilion was tense, and he couldn't help his eyes wandering between the two men…and the stark image of the nuclear bombers soaring over open waters.

"And for that, you shall perish under the same flames." Gatin snarled. "As we speak, French jets are flying to annihilate you."

Hamal took the ultimatum in stride, unaffected by his impending death. He shrugged. "Yes, I know of your bombers. We picked them up on radar as soon as they reached the Mediterranean Sea."

Gatin laughed. "And yet you sit there and do nothing?"

"What is there to do?" Hamal answered curtly. "You and I both know that my men and I cannot outrun the explosion. It is better to face death bravely, and I am not afraid to die." There was acceptance, a peace in his voice. "Perhaps it is all for the best. At least now, the Wars will end."

It was the critical moment, and Lemieux leaned forward, putting his weight on his hands. "But Mr. Hamal…The Wars are already over!!"

* * *

Hassam al-Hamal could not have been more surprised if the Ambassador had told him the bombers were bringing care packages. The desert warrior blinked openly, as if he had seen an oasis in the waste.

"What?"

Lemieux kept talking, refusing to give Gatin a voice. "A little more than a month ago, the surviving nations of the world signed an armistice at Canberra in Australia. The survivors of Egypt also signed that Treaty." Lemieux motioned around himself. "I'm speaking to you from Alaska. The Treaty included a mandatory collaboration towards the restoration of the world…the greatest minds left are standing behind me. Please, I am asking you, stop your fighting. The world is barely alive now. It cannot take another war."

Hamal nodded, overwhelmed by the news. "Yes…Yes, I could stop the fighting." He made it a point to look at the screen, firm again. "Of course, it will not stop if I am annihilated. There are still units of the Legion, widespread throughout the Sahara, that would survive my death. If you want peace, then begin with peace. Not blood."

His remarks had been directed at Gatin, who was now as red as a beet. "You must be held blameless because you did not know of the truce, is that it? This is bullshit! My countrymen, my government, demands justice!!"

"Justice?" Hamal mused drily, "Or vengeance? I hold regret in my heart that your capital perished beyond wartime, but your course is madness and lunacy. I am guilty of bombing Paris…but no more so than any other military force who used nuclear weapons in wartime."

"Absurd!" General Gatin screamed, and the Ambassador finally snapped.

Lemieux slammed his hand down beside the keyboard of the laptop he spoke through. "General, with all due respect…shut the _HELL _ up." Gatin and Hamal both blinked in shock at the phrase, and moreso at the livid expression on Lemieux's face.

"You know as well as I do, General, that all the nuclear-using nations were pardoned. The Legion of Muhammad will receive the same pardon. They did not know. THEY DID NOT KNOW." Lemieux pointed to the screen. "You told me you would believe me when you saw it in his face and heard it in his eyes. Hamal has shown you both. You must now do what you promised, do what is the only logical…the only sane choice left. End this conflict. Recall your bombers. Put a stop to this senseless violence."

Hamal nodded, impressed at the impassioned plea. Gatin stumbled for words, but eventually found his blustering rage, and took off once more.

"Yes." General Gatin announced coldly. "I will end this senseless violence. I will destroy you, Hamal, and I will hunt down every last one of your camps, and wipe them from the face of the Earth."

Inside the pavilion, a collective gasp rose up. Light and Wily looked to each other, and for a moment, felt the last pieces of humanity's conscience slipping away from them. Hamal's face went bitterly cold, and Lemieux set his head in his hands.

A strong hand settled on the Ambassador's shoulder, and the calculating, shrewd voice of Darwin Vinkus echoed in the stillness of Alaska's air. "Then you, and all of France, will be condemned to death."

Lemieux and Gatin both snapped their heads about and stared at the quietly simmering man.

"Who are you?" Gatin demanded angrily.

Vinkus calmly slipped his hand into his pocket and gave a curt bob of his head. "My name is Representative Darwin Vinkus of the United Nations. I oversee the Reconstruction for the U.N. here in Alaska. Any action by you against the Legion of Muhammad will be considered as a violation of the Canberra Treaty, and you and your precious, snail-eating, wine-sniffing country will be punished with lethal speed and finality. So yes, you may choose to ignore conventional wisdom, but it will be everything you hold dear that pays the penalty. The United Nations will see to that."

Gatin and Lemieux gaped at the ultimatum, and Lemieux tried to stammer a protest, only to be silenced by a sharp look from the clearly serious Vinkus.

"You would dare…to slaughter innocents?" Gatin whispered.

"You would dare to hide behind them?" Vinkus retorted. He folded his arms expectantly. "What is it to be, General? Death…or life?"

Gatin shook in his seat, but finally turned his smouldering gaze back to the screen. "I will recall the bombers. And as for you, Mr. Hamal…I should pray that I never have to see your face again."

Hassam al-Hamal smiled and offered a nod. "God willing." He replied.

The French general scowled, and his connection ended…leaving the CTWRC and Hamal alone to look at each other.

Light's gaze locked in on the bombers on the screen. He had lost track of the time. How many minutes…precious minutes…had passed? Were they close?

Suddenly, they moved. Light let out a gasp, thinking they meant to fire…but one by one, the squadron pulled back and disengaged, making a turn back to the north.

Everyone in the pavilion saw it, and Vinkus looked from the lower half of the screen to the camera pointed at the frozen Lemieux. "Mr. Hamal…can you confirm the position of those bombers?" Vinkus asked calmly.

Hassam al-Hamal glanced off to the side for a moment, and very slowly, the tension in his face slackened off, then vanished. He turned back to the screen, gratefulness thinning the drawn out lines on his face. "They are turning around, Mr. Vinkus."

The room exploded in roaring cheers, and Vinkus finally allowed himself a smile as the noise engulfed them. "Thank heaven for small miracles."

"Allah's favor guided you this day, friend." Hamal exhaled. "We will keep to our end of the bargain. Our hostilities will be put to an end. The War is over."

Vinkus nodded slowly. "We would appreciate that."

Hamal seemed to stare off blankly for a moment before turning back. "Is it true that you…that you are going to heal the planet?"

"As much as we can. If we can." Vinkus agreed solemnly. "The Wars may have taken more than we may ever be able to heal."

"Perhaps the scars will finally run deep enough that nobody will ever dare try it again." Hamal mused.

"Perhaps." Vinkus noted. "But there is a favor I would ask of you."

Hamal blinked. "Yes? Certainly, if we can help with your efforts, we will."

"We've been trying to put together a survey of the earth and the remaining population." Vinkus noted, doing a fantastic job of keeping his composure in spite of the noise. "But our resources for the census…are very limited. We just now were able to get true global communication back online, and it may not last."

"I see…" Hamal rubbed his beard. "So you wish me to take my men, and…make an accounting of what is left?"

"We have a United Nations contingent stationed in Cairo." Vinkus nodded. "They would welcome the help. I'll let them know you're coming. And Hamal? Leave the guns behind."

"I will do so…in both cases." Hamal seemed ten years younger as the weight of war slipped free, and granted him the promise of a quieter, nobler path. "It will feel good to be using a pen instead of a sword once again."

"…You were a writer?" Vinkus asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Hassam al-Hamal shook his head. "No. I was a political activist. My brother…was the warrior. And I will be glad to leave his legacy forgotten." He bowed to the screen and raised his hand. "God be with you."

"And with you, Hassam."

The transmission ended, and Vinkus finally allowed himself to sink into his chair. The scientists of the CTWRC cheered on.

It was nearly fifteen seconds before Ambassador Michel Lemieux was able to compose himself enough to turn about and stare at Vinkus. "Were you serious then?" He asked hollowly. "Would you have recommended to the U.N. that France be bombed out of existence, if General Gatin had gone through with it?"

Vinkus pulled his hand away from his eyes and looked over to Lemieux. He spoke unflinchingly, an unnerving calm guiding his voice. "We cannot risk the whole of the earth for one population who refuses to accept the good of all over themselves. Yes. I would have." He offered a flippant, unsettling smile. "Luckily, all that blowhard of a warhawk needed was a bigger saber than his own rattling to quench his thirst for revenge." Vinkus waited for a moment, then prodded the silent Lemieux. "Does that disturb you?"

Lemieux looked at Vinkus, shaking his head. "Perhaps we need a devil to keep everyone else from changing into one."

Vinkus laughed softly. "That may be…but I don't believe I am that monster." He turned about. "Now…there's one more piece of business to attend to today before I can finally let myself catch some sleep."

Dr. Light and Wily were jumping up and down, hugging each other and slapping each other on the back. Titus laughed at them and shook his head. "Oi, can't an Aussie get in this group hug?"

Tom and Albert paused long enough to regard their third comrade, and quickly drew him in, pounding his shoulders and laughing all the more. "Oh, you two are nuttier than a PayDay, you know that?" Grant sniffed. "I don't believe it. You two actually pulled it off. You helped to stop another war."

Wily's mustache twitched with a fair amount of pride, but not in himself, not anymore. "No, Titus. _WE_ pulled it off. The four of us."

"Doctor Light?"

They stopped their joyous celebration and looked over to Vinkus, exhausted, but still in control. The voice of the CTWRC beyond the sites' boundaries smiled at them. "Do you think you could spare me one last miracle before I collapse?"

"We can try." Wily smirked. "There aren't any more nukes we need to stop people from shooting, I hope?"

Vinkus shook his head. "No. This time, all I want to do is transmit a global broadcast."

The men of the communications team nodded and went back to their positions. "I think we can manage that." Light agreed, tapping Representative Lemieux on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, but I'll be needing my seat back."

"Of course." Lemieux agreed, standing up. He looked about, pale and yet relieved. "I think I need to take some fresh air. I'll be outside if you need me, Representative Vinkus."

The U.N. site Representative nodded, and looked around. "All right. Am I using your laptop's camera for this, Light?"

"No, sir." Titus announced, pulling up an old USB microfeed camera and plugging it into his own system. "You'll be using my setup."

**BriteLite: **Latch, we did it.

**Latchkey: **I no. Ub3r pwn4g, lol

**BriteLite: **We're not done yet, though. We still have one more message to deliver.

**Latchkey: **Hoo to?

**BriteLite: **This one, Latch…is going to the world. System wide. Worldwide. Dr. Wily says the feeds are looking good. Can you route the signal?

**Latchkey: **Sumday, u hav 2 do this yorself, u no.

**BriteLite:** …Probably, but I have to make sure you've got something to do outside of sitting there eating Twinkies. :)

**Latchkey: **I ges. K tehn, hold on.

"All right, we're set." Titus called out, throwing a thumbs up as Vinkus sat relaxed, but gaunt and drawn, in front of the Australian's own machine.

Latchkey's fingers were a blur, and Wily watched his schematic of satellites react. "The thing's lighting up like a Christmas tree…" He announced, eyes wide. "Mr. Dunlap's activating everything! Radio, television, high definition, internet broadcasts with text parsers…"

Light put his hand on the back of Latchkey's chair and patted it as the boy finished. "He does good work." He responded quietly.

Latch's hand came up and rested on his own, causing Light to jump for a moment. It was the first time Latch had done such a physically connected action…

The first time he'd tried to touch someone.

"Good work, Latch." Light answered, with a strangled, choked up voice. "You made this possible too."

Latch grunted noncommittally and pulled his hand away, reaching for another pack of Twinkies. Light sniffled and wiped at his eyes, then smiled and looked to Vinkus.

"The world, meet Darwin Vinkus. Darwin Vinkus…the world."

* * *

_May 25__th__, 2047 C.E._

_12:00 A.M. (Alaskan Standard Time)_

**The first Postwar Broadcast**

_"This message is being broadcast across all known channels and frequencies worldwide. This first sending will be in English. Repeat transmissions will be coded in Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, French, Swahili, and German. This is to be done because this message is meant for the world._

_The Wars of 2040 are over. All of them. If you are still fighting, lay down your arms. Sanity, and the survival of humanity depend on it. The warring nations signed an armistice in Canberra, Australia in April of this year. All hostilities are ended, and there will be no reparations to any single nation. There is not enough left of the world for such a pitiful thing to matter._

_As a part of the Canberra Treaty, all the surviving nations of the world have been placed under the control of a fully militarized United Nations. This military force is under the leadership of the Secretary General, who has been granted extraordinary powers the likes of which have never been seen before. For the forseeable future, this is as it must be. Humanity has proven itself unable to live in harmony when allowed to keep their political distinctions. Until a probationary period has been passed, all nations will cede control of international affairs, and even some national ones, to the United Nations. _

_Another part of the Treaty is that the survivors of this conflict, regardless of race, creed, or nationality will work together to save what we can of our dying planet. The Wars of 2040 have poisoned it beyond anything we have ever done. The damage may never be fully healed, but we must try._

_The best and brightest minds of the world have been dedicated to this effort. They have been assembled in Alaska, and are even now, as construction crews race to complete the base, working on solutions to deal with the crises left in the aftermath. If you are a scientist, a physicist, an engineer, an environmentalist with work experience…Make yourselves known. You are needed, not only for your own country, but for those you once defended, and even fought against._

_The challenges put to us are immense. Radioactivity. A thinned ozone layer. Biological and chemical agents that will take years, decades…perhaps even centuries…to go inert. Ruined fields and farms. Tattered infrastructures. Open graves where cities once stood. Disease…_

_Famine._

_We do not yet know how serious the death toll is. We do not know how stark the damage is, what places are unrecoverable, and where we might still be able to make a living. To those who can hear this…look for the United Nations. We have stationed outposts in Cairo, in Hong Kong, in Tokyo, in Canberra, at Jakarta and San Francisco and Toronto and Rio de Janeiro and Cape Town. We need your help to build the census, to find what places need the most help._

_…The United Nations' European Headquarters had been stationed at Paris. It…Paris no longer exists. A misunderstanding led to its destruction. It is my hope that this message will stop any further bloodshed. _

_The old world is dying, if not already dead. To those that have lived, you have been given a second chance. We must work together. Work together, or hang separately. Take your second chance. Join us. We are all that we have left._

_This is Darwin Vinkus, the on-site Representative for the Canberra Treaty World Reclamation Consortium in Alaska. To our success…and our survival._

_Remember hope. It yet lives."_

* * *

_The CTWRC_

_May 27__th__, 2047 C.E._

_1:48 P.M._

"Yeah, I'm coming, hold on a second." Light called outside as he walked into his cabin. The most celebrated man at the CTWRC chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "They're like vultures."

He walked over to his bedstand and picked up his old tobacco pipe he had wanted for lunch. He caught Latchkey, bent over his laptop and staring at it with an intensity the boy rarely had.

Light looked over, angling his head to try and catch what he was up to. All he saw was a lot of windows…some files being transferred…And a brief smattering of code he couldn't read at his distance before the black-haired boy stopped typing and shut all the windows.

Light chuckled and went back to his bed, powering up his own laptop that sat on the neatly folded covers.

**BriteLite: **Working on a secret project, Latch?

Over on his own bed, Schroeder Dunlap quickly typed in a reply.

**Latchkey: **Mabee. Y u ask?

Light couldn't restrain the chuckle. "Smartass." He muttered.

**BriteLite: **You know, you can take a break. We finished re-aligning the satellite network yesterday to account for the ones that'll hit the atmosphere and roast later today and tomorrow. We're bleeding heroes, fer Chrissake. Take some time to relax.

**Latchkey: **Cant. the Trick3r still w4tchin us.

Light's mirth evaporated quickly. That was a name he hadn't heard Latch use for a good, long time.

**BriteLite: **…The Tricker? Latch, why would the Tricker be watching us?

**Latchkey: **M4bee becus we stopt the fightn. Dunn0. But hez stil out ther, Lite.

**BriteLite: **Is that why you're working? You're trying to find him?

**Latchkey: **No. Cant find him. But can prep4re.

**BriteLite: **Prepare? Prepare for what?

No response came. Latch's fingers were frozen over the keyboard. Either there was no answer the boy could think of…or none he wanted to. Light sighed and typed in another message.

**BriteLite: **Come on. Titus says they've got falafels for lunch today. It's not Twinkies, but I think you might get a kick out of them all the same.

**Latchkey: **k, brb in 3 minz.

**BriteLite: **...You will?

**Latchkey: **eevn Twnkeez g3t old. 3 minz.

Light stared at his screen for a moment or two, but shook his head and put the laptop aside. "You've never agreed to eat with us before." He mumbled, looking over to their master hacker. "Why now?"

But Latch was staring blankly at his screen, waiting for Light to leave before he finished his work.

The brown-haired, bearded scientist nodded and stood up. "All right, Schroeder. We'll keep a seat open for you." Making sure that his pipe was still in his trousers, Light left Cabin 24-B and closed the door behind him. In his haste, he neglected to turn his machine off.

Latchkey wasted no time. As soon as Light was gone, he brought up his windows and files and finished the last few lines of code. Precious code, which once was the cause for his imprisonment, now found new life, and new, insidious purpose.

They had brought him here to save the world. Well, he'd done that. It was his turn now, to do what he wanted.

Through the open connection that Light had left to his own machine through simple neglect, Latch saved a duplicate copy of his dark little program. He left instructions with Light's machine to copy it to the main server of the CTWRC, as well as the hard drives of Darwin Vinkus, Oliver Xanthos, Titus Grant, and several others. It was small enough it wouldn't be noticed…not among all the other things they had. Nobody would be looking for it, either. Viruses were something from the old world. One way or another, the boy resolved, it was going to get out. He would be infamous. People would know his name forever now…a hacker's dream.

He almost started to smile again.

Then the message came.

_**You have been a busy little boy, Schroeder.**_

Everything else on his screen went blank. Latch tried to let out a scream, but it came out as a gurgling grunt.

_**Congratulations. You helped Dr. Light to avert a war this planet could not afford. I commend you for that…but I finished looking through your files just now. What's the old saying…oh yes. You know too much.**_

**Latchkey: **U r the Trickr!

_**…Amusing. Chances are high that you learned of the truth about the GAIDNs from Light…because I know for a fact that Wily doesn't talk about it at all. Fear has kept him in line…fear and hopelessness. And you have given him and Light hope, which I now must put a stop to. **_

**Latchkey: **wtf?

Latchkey pounded on his keyboard, trying to snap it out of the loop, access his other programs, anything. It was all gone.

_**Oh, don't bother trying anything funny. I hit your system with a Trojan…your files are being formatted as we speak. This program is going to be the last thing to go, right after the operating system. Without your window to the world, you're just another crippled waste of life, which takes care of you.**_

**Latchkey: **U son of a BTICHH!

_**Wily will settle down once hope's properly crushed again…And as for Light…**_

_**Well, there are accidents. And then there are "Accidents." Somebody should have told Light that smoking kills. **_

_**Farewell, Mr. Dunlap.**_

His laptop made a horrible sound, a sort of grinding that Latch knew could only be his hard drive first finishing its format to destroy all his data…and then the drive spinning on improperly, eliminating any chance of recovery.

He sat there, breathing hard, before he finally threw the bricked system across the room and screamed. The laptop shattered apart on impact, and a sharp edge of metal sliced a thin cut under his eye from the shrapnel. Latch didn't seem to notice it at all, much less the single Twinkie that now lay on the thin floor of his shack.

His head pounded with thoughts, and he started hitting himself in the forehead repetitively to think. Light…

Light was in danger. The Tricker had found out what Latch was up to. Light couldn't die. He couldn't.

Not now. He sprang from his bed, running at an odd pace with his arms flailing at his sides. He had to get to Light. Somehow, he had to warn him. Somehow…

He smashed through the door, suffering a broken nose and a terrible pain in his shoulder for the effort. He ran on regardless, leaving nothing but a broken machine, all that his life had been, and a trampled Twinkie in the dirt behind.

* * *

_The CTWRC Cafeteria_

_1:52 P.M._

Vinkus picked up one of the deep fried falafels with his fork and examined it carefully, glancing between Oliver Xanthos and Dr. Albert Wily, both of whom were grinning at him. "Now, you're sure about this?"

Mr. Xanthos smiled at his wary friend. "Relax, it's just chickpeas. Think of it like a takoyaki ball without the squid…or one of those chicken appetizers that were so popular before the Wars started. Who knows? You might even like it."

"Maybe." Wily teased their U.N. Representative.

"Bah." Vinkus snorted, wrinkling his nose before cautiously biting the end off of it. He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments, glaring at Wily as the scientist drummed his fingers together expectantly. "…Did they use chili sauce on this?" Vinkus finally ventured.

"A sweet kind. Why?" Xanthos asked.

Vinkus swallowed the bite and popped the rest of the falafel in his mouth. "It's not Teriyaki, but it'll do."

Xanthos let out a triumphant guffaw, and Wily shared a very out of character high-five with the CTWRC's mysterious, ever-present benefactor.

Oliver Xanthos leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on top of his chest, looking about the cafeteria. "Look at this place." He said, nodding to all the friendly faces, the positive glow. "A couple of days ago, you could have heard a pin drop in here. Now, it's bustling with all this activity, all these smiles."

"We gave the world hope." Vinkus nodded. "Now we have a purpose. We have motivation to work hard, because of that hope."

Wily curled one end of his mustache between his fingers, slowly pulling the arm bearing his death bracelet back into the sleeve of his shirt. "Hope's a dangerous thing." He cautioned them bitterly. "It causes us to fly into the sun with wax wings."

Xanthos considered the rather biting comment, then turned to Vinkus. "What do you think, Dar? Can we really save the world?"

Vinkus, who was surely anything but an optimist, amazed the both of them by taking the opposite perspective. "We started with the truth." He offered in reply, popping another falafel in his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully and swallowed before continuing.  
"After that…the rest is easy." Vinkus let the quote hang before smiling. "By comparison."

"Maybe." Wily grumbled, reaching with a toothpick to get his own taste of Middle Eastern cuisine. The plate of falafels shook off the table and smashed to the floor.

The noise of shattering glass was nothing compared to the explosion that rocked the cafeteria.

People screamed and fell to the floor in horror, and yet for various reasons, from a total lack of interest in self-preservation to conditioned responses, Xanthos, Vinkus, and Wily stood up, staring to the sound, and then the door not far off. Xanthos' secretary, Jessica Bravewind, appeared suddenly beside the exit, a formerly hidden sidearm drawn and kept low and ready. She looked to Xanthos, checking to make sure he was alive, before nodding and dashing out the door.

"That came from outside." Xanthos stated, matter-of-factly.

Wily sucked in a deep breath. "…Thomas was outside."

Lunch forgotten, the three bolted for the door, and hoped and prayed, where hope had no reason to be, that the most celebrated man in the CTWRC yet breathed.

* * *

"You ever eaten Falafel before, Dr. Light?" Titus Grant asked, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it to pass the time.

"Once." Light smiled faintly. "In a quieter time. Did Albert tell you when we could start to uplink the surviving ground communications to the satellite network?"

"Oh, he groused a fair amount about supplying power to 'em again, but said we should be able to start up tomorrow. I got the feeling that Mrs. June intended to hold him to that deadline."

Light reached into his pocket and dug out his trusty pipe. "The woman's a slave driver, no doubt about it. For a change, though, I don't mind it."

The Australian technician grinned broadly at the lauded scientist. "Flyin' on top of the world, eh?"

Light chuckled, pulling out a pinch of tobacco from a small pouch inside his coat and compressing it into the bowl of his pipe. "We're in Alaska, Titus. We sort of are."

"Ahh, you bugger." Grant guffawed, slapping Light across the back. "You know what I mean. I don't think there's a Yank better known than you right now, thanks to the stunt you pulled."

Light rolled his eyes and reached for a small pocketbook of weatherproofed matches. "We all did it, Titus. You're as much a part of this team as Wily or Latch. It took all four of us to pull it off."

"Maybe." Grant shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. They were coming up along the back side of the cafeteria. Another turn and they would be walking past the food's electric stations and fuel supplies, and then food would be theirs. The smell of falafel was frustratingly delicious. The Australian laughed a little. "But, you know, I just can't shake the feeling that even if you didn't have me or Latch, you'd keep going."

Light threw the man a puzzled stare as they turned the corner. "What makes you say that?"

"You and Doctor Wily…there's a history with you two. You're mates, probably saw each other through thick and thin in the last seven years. I couldn't build that kind of a friendship without taking you to the outback to live in the wild and play the Didgeridoo with me and some old Aboriginal mates o' mine."

"You think so?" Light smirked, striking a match and putting the flame down into his pipe's bowl. A few puffs later, the thing lit up, and he drew in a thick cloud of satisfying tobacco into his lungs. "The fact is, Al and I knew about each other back at the Institute, yes…but we didn't always like each other." He chuckled. "There are still days that…"

The offhanded remark came to an abrupt end as someone slammed into Light…hard…and sent him sprawling into the ground. The wind was knocked clean out of him, and a glancing blow along his elbow sent echoes of pain shooting across his arm, loosing his nicotine fix free and sending it tumbling along the ground, ashes and smouldering leaves tumbling out.

A wheezing grunt greeted Light's ears as Titus helped the dazed scientist back onto his feet. "Crikey, Latch, what the 'ell's the matter with ye!" Titus Grant shouted at the boy. Light blinked once to focus his eyes, and saw the same thing Titus did.

Latchkey…or Schroeder Dunlap, as it might be more proper to call him outside of his online world, was scrambling along the ground, trying with hands not used to the simpler motor controls to retrieve the bouncing tobacco pipe. There was panic in his face, and the noises he made were excited and terrified.

At last, he managed to get a hold of it, and he stood tall, raising the thing above his head and pulling back to throw it away.

Titus drew a hand over his face. "Ga'hl, Latch, you got a screw loose or something? He was just smok…"

Grant's eyes were focused on the pipe in Schroeder's tight-fisted grip, but Light found his eyes drawn towards a brief flash just slightly below his range of vision. It came from behind Latch, and along the side of the building.

Light's eyes widened, as he suddenly realized that they had been walking by the thirty gallon propane tank kept outside of the cafeteria. Latch was right in front of it.

And he had a lit pipe in his hand.

The terrifying explosion choked off his screamed warning before he could utter it.

* * *

Noise.

Noise and stars in his eyes.

Noise and stars and heat.

Noise, stars, heat…and then pain, as Light came to.

Grant was out cold and sprawled out on his side oddly, a deep gash along his forehead evidence of a much more serious concussion than…

Light reached a hand up to his own forehead, and winced with a whimper as his fingers crossed over bloody, burned flesh. A trickle of something warm dripped down past what was left of his eyelashes.

Blood.

He struggled to pull himself up, and managed to move in spite of the agonizing pain from his forearms. His clothes were cooked, but they'd absorbed the worst of the propane explosion. Everything still sounded like it had been echoed through a water tank. He'd had a concussion too.

It hurt to breathe, but somehow he did. He had to, in order to gasp when his eyes focused. He had to, because he saw Schroeder…Latch…

Looking far worse off than they were.

"Latch!" Light choked out, stumbling over to the boy's side. He lay on his side, half a dozen bits and pieces of white shrapnel…the tank itself…embedded into him. All his clothes and the hair that had been on his backside was burned away, the skin underneath awful hues of singed brown and red and fully charred black.

Light fell to his knees beside the boy. Latch was trembling, his mouth opened in a scream kept impossible by lack of air. As always, he stared blankly into space, but even that look was more glazed than normal.

"Hang on, Latch. HANG ON!" Light pleaded with the shocky teenager. He wanted to comfort him somehow, but even had he not been autistic, touching would have only hurt him worse.

People were starting to emerge from the cafeteria; he couldn't make them out at the distance. "HELP ME!" He screamed, hoping they could. Latch's breathing was becoming shallow, erratic. He sounded like he was choking, and he probably was; the propane tank had probably punctured a lung, or done worse besides. "PLEASE!!"

A hand snaked up from below and grabbed hold on the edge of his scorched jacket with vicelike force. Light's screams ceased instantly as he turned to the new stimulus, and followed it to the source.

He stopped breathing.

Schroeder Dunlap was looking at him.

_Straight. At him._

The boy's lips were mouthing something.

Tears in his eyes, seeing Vanessa dying all over again, Light shook his head. "No…no, Latch…"

The boy's eyes were sharp, but the effort was taking everything he had left. His neck gave out, and his head flopped down, and still he stared up at Light.

"…To ooh…" Schroeder Dunlap wheezed.

"I can't…Latch, what are you…"

"Uhhh…to ooh…" The boy repeated, slowly, deliberately, finally.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he succumbed.

By the time Jessica Bravewind and the others arrived, all they found was an unconscious Titus Grant, an exploded propane tank, an injured Doctor Light, cradling the body of the CTWRC's youngest member against him and sobbing…

And a tobacco pipe, none the worse for wear.

* * *

_May 28__th__, 2047 C.E._

_Cabin 24-B_

_10:53 A.M._

Titus Grant was probably the only person on site who could be wearing bandages over his scars and manage to look more rugged…even in his Sunday best.

Of course, it wasn't Sunday.

A light rain had started outside, and Titus wouldn't have risked stepping back outside, save for that the conditions inside their hut were worse. Light sat on the edge of Latchkey's bed, his borrowed tie pulled off and left lying beside him. His eyebrows would be long in growing back, and his singed beard had received an emergency trimming, but he still looked better off than the Australian had. He had been staring at the floor for an hour now, his mood blacker than the early summer rains outside. Wily watched him with a detached, almost clinical perspective.

The Australian wished, for a rare change, that he could be more like the bitter scientist. "I'm getting out of here." He mumbled apologetically to Wily, who gave him a slow nod of acquiescence. "Will you two be coming to the reception?"

Wily thought about it, then shrugged. "That depends on him." He answered, motioning to Light with a nod of his head. "Go on."

Glad to be gone, Titus Grant disappeared into the Alaskan soup and beat a path towards friendlier climes.

Wily dropped his hands into the pockets of his dress suit and looked over to Light. "Were you planning on sitting there all day?" He asked acerbically.

Light did nothing, and Wily sighed, giving his head a shake. "It was a good service, I thought. They picked out a good spot for his grave."

Thomas Light seemed to stir at that, and he looked up to Wily with empty, worn eyes. "It shouldn't have happened."

"It was an accident, Tom." Wily soothed his friend. "Nobody could have known that the tank had a leak in it. You can't go blaming yourself."

What Dr. Light couldn't bring himself to vocalize was that only moments before the explosion had taken Latch, the boy had been worried to the point of paranoia over a figure called the Tricker. _Maybe he was right all along_, Light thought. The notion, a bitter pill in an already sour mix, was hard enough he pushed it aside. With everything else, he couldn't bring himself to swallow the idea that there was a Tricker, and that he was watching them. He couldn't bring himself to believe Latch was crazy, either…so confused between the two, he pushed the mess behind him and moved on.

Light shut his eyes. "I don't blame myself. It's just that this is the second time that…"

Wily pursed his lips, comprehending the rest of the unspoken thought. _The second time that someone I cared about died in front of me._

"I know." Wily said, unable to think of anything else which might serve a better purpose.

"Do you know what he said to me?"

"…He said something to you?"

Light nodded, barely aware of the surprised expression on Wily's face. "He looked right at me. He said…up to you. He said it was up to me."

"…Jesus." Wily exhaled, looking to the ceiling. "Kid never says a word the entire time he's here, not even when we get plastered with Xanthos and he storms in, and…"

"…He did what?" Light interrupted, opening his eyes.

Wily did a double take. "Oh. You must have been too drunk to remember. He barreled into Xanthos' cabin, smacked the second wine bottle out of your hand. Broke it to pieces. The kid looked plenty upset, but he never said a word."

Thomas Light found it hard to believe. "…He probably despised us for it."

"No." Albert shot back, quickly dismissing the notion. The force in his voice made Light look to him, and Wily kept his black eyes level. "He gave a damn about you. He gave a damn about us. Remember him as someone who cared, Tom, because he surely did."

"And he died." Dr. Light finished bitterly. A thought crossed his mind, cold and heartless, that perhaps everyone he cared for would perish before he did.

"Al…"

"Yeah, Tom?"

Light stood up and looked to the tidied up pile of broken computer parts that had once been Latchkey's laptop. "…Don't you ever dare die because of me. Promise me, Albert. I couldn't take it a third time."

Wily could have argued that Latch, and even Vanessa, had not died because of Light, but somehow he knew that that was not the answer Light wanted to hear.

Dr. Albert William Wily harrumphed and ran a hand through his thinning black hair. "Don't worry, old friend. It will not be by your hands that I find my death."

Dr. Wily set his hand on Light's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Come on. He said it was up to you. We still have a job to do."

Light nodded, half harrumphing and half laughing as he stood up. "I just thought of something, Albert."

"What's that, Thomas?"

Dr. Light headed out the door, picking up his umbrella on the way out and unfolding it to protect the two of them from the drizzle. "I've been keeping promises to the dead my entire life. First, my parents…then Vanessa…and now, Latch." Wily watched without speaking, and Light chuckled bitterly. "Up to me. Up to us. It always is, isn't it?"

"Don't slide backwards, Tom." Wily uttered coldly. "Not when we've come this far."

* * *

_May 29__th__, 2047 C.E._

_The Pavilion_

_9:23 A.M._

Their connection to Cairo had a strong signal, but it was about to become stronger. Wily glanced up from his console to Light. They didn't have as much of an audience now, partially because their success was expected, and partially because the fate of the world no longer was hanging by a thread. Only Vinkus, and curiously, Oliver Xanthos and his ever-present secretary were standing nearby for the proceedings.

The leader of the Fifth hut Engineering team nodded at the signal output. "The initial tests look good. Get a hold of the U.N. team on the ground." Light said.

"I'm on it." Grant answered, bringing up a video feed that flickered a few times before the image of a man clicked into focus. The Australian blinked a few times. "Wha…Oi, Light! Look who it is!"

Light and the rest of the people close at hand looked up to the projected image, to find themselves looking at a smiling Hassam al-Hamal, now wearing a light blue armband around his wrist, and flanked by others wearing the same apparel.

Vinkus stepped forward into view of the cameras, lifting an eyebrow. "…Mister Hamal?"

_"Salaam, effendis." _The voice replied. Vinkus blinked a few times and looked over to Light, who blushed hotly.

"Apologies. I'm resetting the translation matrix." He quickly typed in a few extra commands, and the feed flickered for a moment. "All right, try it now."

Vinkus cleared his throat. "Technical difficulties, Mr. Hamal. My apologies. But what are you…"

"You said they needed help." Hamal interrupted, at peace with his glaring desert surroundings. "You did not lie, Mister Vinkus. The Legion of Muhammad has been disbanded in all but memory. We are now the 5th Volunteer Expeditionary Force for the United Nations; the first one in Africa, as they have told me."

"But what are you doing there?"

"I guided them to this telecommunications tower." Hamal told him. "The rest of it is something I cannot help with, as I am not a man whose skill lies in machines. But we will all serve our part. I just wanted to remain around so I might thank you. You have given us a life, one that we must decide what to do with. There is no greater gift."

Vinkus smiled. "Then use it well. Good luck to you, Hassam."

"And to you as well." Hassam al-Hamal bowed and walked away, leaving the true head of the U.N. contingent to look at Vinkus.

"Colonel Walbredge here. Our teams have restored power to the relay towers from the nearby shallow water wind plants. We're waiting for your signal, WRC."

Wily brought up a separate blueprint and overlaid it along the pinpricks of Light that shone around the earth in a haphazard geometric fashion. One red dot now flickered in Egypt where they were transmitting to…And slowly, others were beginning to come online. Wily grunted in satisfaction and looked over to Light. "They're looking good."

Light allowed himself a small, but meaningless smile. The magic of the entire experience had become cheapened in Latch's absence. "All right. Titus, go ahead and contact our ground teams in Brazil. Hopefully, they're set to go too."

"Right." The Australian responded, activating another communications line. "Set the language to Portugese, would ye, Doctor Light?"

One by one, they established satellite linkups with the various U.N. organized teams placed around the world. Cairo and Rio de Janeiro were the first; Bangor in Maine, Reykjavik, Hong Kong, Canberra, and Tokyo followed. It spoke of their progress that it only took them fifteen minutes to line them all up.

The idea behind it all was that the landline towers were far more sustainable, in the long term, than their satellites were. They also had just as much of a psychological role to play; people could see towers. They couldn't see satellites. If they could see the connected world, they would work for it.

Wily loomed over his monitor, grinning as the red dots representing the ground telecom-towers all finished lighting up. "I've got all our points transmitting a search signal. They're ready for the uplink."

The various site commanders about the world split the screen seven different ways, each of them watching and waiting. Titus looked over to Light. "All stations reporting ready. The satellite grid's holding up."

"All right." Light exhaled, picking up his laptop. He brought up his Network protocols, and prepared them. His finger hovered over the enter key. "Here's to the brand new world, fellas."

He punched the button…

The uplink program went up, copied itself, and went out.

Then everything went crazy.

Wily's screen went blank. The mad scientist let out a protesting squawk and tried to reboot. It didn't take. "Something's locked me out!"

Titus's screen was awash with flickering images and numbers. "Crikey, this bugger's gone out of control!"

"Light, what the Hell is going on?" Vinkus demanded. His own machine running countless flickering windows, Light managed to draw up the list of running programs and stared hard. "Offhand, I'd say it was some kind of glitch."

Wily finally got the noise to run in the background, and brought up his model of the earth and their communications relays. His eyes widened as one by one, all the stations began to flash blue, instead of the expected green. He'd picked that color to mark a problem.

"Tom, this is no glitch. Whatever this is, it's spreading throughout the entire Network." His head froze, and he swore. "Blast it, it just hit Tokyo!"

The eight-way Conference call was heavily laden with static and choppy images as the buffers strained to keep up with the high load. "…C, this…yo. We ju…ent haywire. Wh….is going on?!"

Wily and Light stared at each other, recognizing the only possibility left. They had just been hit with a virus.

A computer virus.

"Titus, keep monitoring the outbreak." Light snapped. "Al, can you trace the sour…"

"I'm already on it!" Wily hollered back, and his fingers went to work. Light tackled what he considered to be the most difficult part: Identifying it.

As active as it was, it was easy to lay its code bare to his decompiler. Light scanned through it, the garbled alphanumeric sequences as legible to him as any other language he knew.

The code betrayed the virus' true nature quickly. "A chrono…No, wait, this was conditional. A contingency virus." He spoke quickly, mostly for his own benefit, though Vinkus lingered nearby. The U.N. site representative wrung the hem of his shirt in his hands, tight enough to stretch out the fabric.

Light's eyes danced around the screen. "…This thing was triggered when we initialized the final uplinks."

"What does that mean?!" Vinkus asked.

Light's heart was pounding in terror. He recognized it.

"This is my code." He whispered. "Someone used my code. They set it up so that…"

Dr. Light's eyes went wide, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh dear God, no." He groaned.

"What? WHAT?!" Vinkus nearly screamed, panicking enough for the both of them.

_Eight years ago…_

Eight years ago, Vanessa had deleted that segment. _I'm sure of it!_

And yet, there it stood all the same, embedded as the heart, the replication engine of it all.

"Alpha." Light murmured, tracing his finger across the screen. "It's Alpha."

"It hit everything!" Grant shouted out. "Every relay's infected! It's…wait a tick, it's still moving! It's broadcasting itself and infecting other computers! The U.N. team's systems are registering!"

"Put it up on the screen." Vinkus snapped. The failing teleconference was shunted aside for the model from Wily's monitor, which showed the relays about the earth. Bright blue lights orbited above…

And on the earth's surface, in spite of the chaos it caused, blue lights began to dot the continents, one by one.

Titus's voice choked in his throat as the lights began to connect. Hundreds…thousands. Abandoned systems that still had power, weather stations, government and military machines all joined the chorus. Each light meant a new ray of hope, a connected hub in a Network that had grown beyond all bounds. "How?" Titus asked numbly, watching Australia's eastern seaboard glimmer. "How is it doing this? Why?"

"Because before I fixed it, the Network was designed to seek out other systems and force compatibility." Light replied, calmer than he felt. "But I took out the code that made it malignant. Someone duplicated it…and now the Network is doing exactly what it was programmed to do." Light watched the code fly by his monitor, and frowned. "Hold on. There's more to this yet."

Wily let out a smattering of oaths in German. "Tom, the virus originated here! I'm reading initial infections in half the machines at the CTWRC, your laptop included!"

Vinkus leaned over Light's shoulder, staring at the garbled information. He was more concerned with the damage yet to come. "More? What else is it going to do?"

"Outgoing!" Titus yelped warningly. "The virus is forcing a file download!"

Light's eyes widened. He'd caught the file extension in the code. "The Hell? There's no way they could have gotten that, unless…"

His voice gave out when every screen in the pavilion went blank, save an old fashioned blinking text cursor. It hovered in the middle of the screen for a moment, and then slowly typed in a simple message.

**I thot u migt all lik 2 see sumthin. **

"What the…That's Latch's writing!" Grant called out. Vinkus and Wily said nothing, and Light blinked when his eyes stung, realizing only after the fact that he had started to cry.

**Wily didn mak the gaydns. teh us did. **

The message blipped, and images began to fly by, visualizing themselves as they were downloaded into the memory banks of every machine the modified virus touched.

Images of Wily and his QB/M, winning the contest in 2040.

The schematic files, once top secret, showing that Wily had given to Light to prove his case. More files, memos, documentation, showing exactly who had been responsible for taking the idea of a durable exploration and all-purpose mechanoid and turning it into a war machine. Unfiltered. Raw. The proof gained not only from one night's discovery, but a lifetime of hacking.

Wily turned and stared at Tom incredulously. Not knowing his only living friend was watching him, Light let his tears fall and watched the last of Schroeder Dunlap's legacy stream by.

_When did you find the time? When did you get into my files? Was it the night I got drunk? Wily said you ran out…you must have come back to the cabin, and…_

"Oh, Latch." Light's voice cracked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The images stopped for a moment. The empty text void returned.

**Wily wuz impriznd as a trrist for making the gaydns. They scapgotd him. They nevr made him gilty, bcuz he wasn't gilty. Hez stil a prisonr at the CTWRC. Hez fihtn to sav the wrld. He desurvz betr.**

**The wrld needs him. The wrld needs the truth. Blame the us. They mad the gaydns. They roond Wilyz dreams.**

**I m Latchkey. I haxd teh nets. LOL. My virus wil kil itself aftr fixin teh internetz. **

**Lite…Im sory. I lokd.**

**Liv.**

**Evryone. Liv.**

The image on the monitor cut out, and was replaced by the model of the earth and its communications hubs.

Light fell back into his chair and stared at the screen, unaware of the maelstrom that exploded around him.

Titus Grant watched the map of their communications slowly go from the trouble-marked blue…to the bright green hue of normal functioning. All the new light glistened still. "It's coming back online!" He whooped triumphantly. "Blast it, it's all coming back!"

_"Alaska, this is Tokyo. What the HELL was that? And is this data true, about the GAIDNs?"_

Darwin Vinkus turned to Wily, noticing that Xanthos, who had been hiding in the back corner, now looked on the scientist with dumbstruck, heartfelt sympathy. "Is it true?" Representative Vinkus asked Dr. Albert William Wily evenly.

Now with tears in his own eyes, all Albert Wily could do was mutely nod. Vinkus' hand tightened, and shook his head. "…Then it seems we…and the world as well…owes you an apology. And so much more."

Wily stared down to the floor, the weight of his death bracelet hanging heavier by the second against his wrist. "…Why?" He asked himself, his mind unable to grasp what had just taken place. His hardened heart, made like steel from the last seven years, shattered like glass. "I never said a kind word about you. I never offered to help you. I ignored you, because I thought you were less than me. Why did you help me?"

Sitting in his seat, Light covered his mouth to stifle the sobs and stared at his screen. This time, though, he cried over Latch for a far better reason. Out of joy.

His monitor displayed the scanned image of him and his fiancée Vanessa, all those long and precious years before. Underneath it, one last message from Latch said the farewell the boy had never been able to utter.

**U said u could sav the world. I beleev u, Lite. **

**I just wish I cud do mor. Mayb Wily can help.**

**Itz all up to u now.**

"Yes." Light answered. "Make my own destiny…Like you did, right, Latch?"

In spite of himself, Dr. Thomas X. Light started to laugh.

Hope had finally returned. The world was awake.

* * *

_June 6__th__, 2047 C.E._

_The Christening of the Alaskan HQ_

_8:25 A.M._

"You know something, Tom?" Dr. Wily asked his friend, as they stood in the middle of the crowd gathered about the front of the now fully constructed exterior of the CTWRC HQ. He smiled openly, a beverage in one hand and dressed in short sleeves, in spite of the still chilly weather.

Light glanced over to him and smirked. "No…what?"

"I don't think I ever enjoyed being such a smug prick as much as I did when our old associates Beskin and Jane had to bite the bullet and apologize to me."

"Let's face it, Al. It's not easy suddenly discovering that everything you've bought into about a person for years is a lie." Light answered, looking back ahead. "Now that the truth is out, heads have been rolling back home. They arrested Vice President Grevis for conspiracy and a host of other charges."

"…That son of a bitch became the vice president?" Wily asked, raising an eyebrow. "Good riddance, I say." He fingered the spot on his wrist where, up until three days ago, the tracking bracelet that had marked him had rested. "As it stands, it's going to be days before these blisters go away."

Light chuckled. "Consider them souvenirs. You're a free man now. The world knows the truth about the Kewbees, and how the United States duped them all."

"And they'll be paying for it for years." Wily finished. He considered things for a moment, and frowned. "Tom?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You…you don't think that maybe the world was better off not knowing the truth? It's easier to hate one person than a whole country. The repercussions…"

"The truth isn't easy, Albert." Dr. Light interrupted his friend sternly. "It is necessary, though. This project, the Reconstruction, can only go forward if there's nothing to hide."

"Yes, I suppose." Wily agreed halfheartedly.

Light stared at Wily for a few moments. "…Or are you regretting being exonerated at the cost of a young man's life?"

Wily looked away; Light had hit the right nerve.

"The kid deserved better. I never thanked him. Not once, in all the days he worked with us."

"If you want to thank him, help save this world he trusted us with. If you want to honor him, never ignore another spirit again." Thomas patted Albert on the shoulder. "All right?"

"…I suppose I can live with that." Wily exhaled, regaining his smile. "Hey, I think that Vinkus is finally ready to start talking."

"Some of you may have noticed that we're not quite done yet building this place. We would have liked to wait to christen this place until all the work was done, but since some of you will soon be departing for other points around the world to start the work, it made sense to do it now." Vinkus motioned behind the podium to the buildings, which finally had gained all their walls. "A lot of the interior still needs to be wired, furnished...and given toilets. But the walls stand. It has several offshooting structures and work laboratories from the main building. These branches will be where the various crews will be stationed. The main building is shaped like a ring; unbroken, ongoing, linked. A large outdoor garden will be kept for planting and ambience, and our pavilion has an underground structure that will take its place. Everything that we need is going to go into this place…Because, just as I told you that we were going to work together, we're also going to live together. This is our home now. We are a family."

Vinkus waited for that to settle in before he bowed his head. "A family which has taken its first loss. Only a scant handful of days ago, we lost Schroeder Dunlap, an outstanding member of the team responsible for establishing global communications again. He was the first to die in the name of world restoration. I pray he is also the last."

There had been smiles before in the audience, but the mention of Latchkey, who had sacrificed everything, brought them back to grim focus.

Vinkus set his hands on the podium, and after a pause, began again. "After Latch died, I was given the job of going through his things. I found something." He held up an old book, frayed at the edges. "He had kept a diary before he came here. It isn't much, and it's definitely not the sort of thing that rolls off the tongue…but in one post, he mentioned that he always liked to look at rainbows. The memory of rainbows kept him going."

Darwin Vinkus looked over to Mrs. June, who smiled back at him. "A lot of you have been grumbling that the name, CTWRC really isn't a good title. There's no bounce to it. After I told Rebecca about Latch's journal, she came up with something. So I'm going to let her tell it to you."

Representative Vinkus stepped back from the podium and took a seat, and Rebecca June, the scarred woman in charge of the Alaskan site, stood in front of the massed group.

"In the Judeo-Christian tradition, a rainbow has particular significance. Each of those religions mentions a great flood that nearly wiped out all of humanity. In Christian lore, God then made a rainbow, which was a promise that mankind would not perish by his hands again." She glanced around, noting that all of them watched patiently for her to finish. "But he never promised that we would not destroy ourselves. For seven years, we have nearly accomplished just that. Early reports from the census teams stationed around the world indicate that fully 60 percent of the pre-existing population is dead. We must now move forward, to undo the damage and rebuild a world ruined by the stupidity and greed and malice of too many. Schroeder Dunlap reminded us with his death and posthumous actions that we are too few to die now. We must live, for life's sake. It is only fitting, that if our Consortium is to have a new name, it stand for something meaningful. Latchkey has given it to us."

She held her arms out to the sides, palms facing upwards. "My proposal is this: That the CTWRC be renamed as the Second Rainbow. Not only in honor of Latch, but for the significance of it…for this is a rainbow of humanity's make, a solemn promise that we will never again risk the extinction of our own kind. Do I have a second for this name?"

The crowd stood, silently, before Dr. Albert William Wily raised his hand. "Second." He announced, nodding slowly. "For Latch, who gave me freedom when I never did one good thing for him…I give him this now. Let his dream be our guide."

Rebecca June beamed. "There is a second. All opposed?"

Not a hand went up.

"All in favor?"

Unanimously, the vote was passed. An electricity danced through the air, and the name rang in the Alaskan wilderness about them.

_The Second Rainbow._

* * *

"Now, you're sure that the two of you'll be fine here all by yourselves?" Titus Grant asked again, looking at his two former partners with an unsure expression. "You're sure?"

"Oh, come off it, Titus." Dr. Wily snorted, waving the Australian technician off. "Our team was disbanded the moment we finished the modifications. You've got your job, and we have ours."

"They picked the best man to oversee the global uplink in Australia." Light agreed, shaking Titus' hand. "It's your country. Al and I would stick out like sore thumbs."

The noise of the helicopters around them powering up and taking off made it hard for the three comrades to say their farewells, but they managed a decent try at it. If anything, Titus Grant seemed the most reluctant, and he was the one going home.

The Australian scratched his chin. "Well, if you two ever happen to be traveling by Sydney, you just give me a call. I'll warm up the barbie for you, and get some surf n' turf besides. Say, have they told you what your next assignment's going to be?"

A site technician came up and tapped Grant on the shoulder. "Sir, your helicopter's going to disembark in two minutes."

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a bloody second, would ya?" Titus waved the man off and turned back to his friends. "But really, what's next for the two of you? I was plenty surprised to hear you didn't agree to come with me."

Light thought about it. "I'm not really sure." He admitted sheepishly. "My one dream was the Network. We just put it up. It's not quite the version I had…and the timing could have been better…but it is what it is. I really don't know what I'm going to do next. What about you, Al?"

Dr. Albert Wily rolled the end of his black mustache. "Well, now that I've been exonerated for my supposed crimes against humanity, I thought that I might try my hand at automatons again."

"Robots?" Dr. Light asked, surprised.

Wily snorted. "Well, mechanoids, actually, but…oh, what the Hell. Robots. Fine." He threw his hands up in the air, resigning to the more popular name. "Who cares about accuracy? Yes, I'm going to go back to doing what _**I **_do best. Which is making robots. God knows we're going to need them."

Titus seemed dubious. "We will?"

Wily nodded, a sense of knowing in his wayward smile and distant gaze that quelled all doubt. "You take care of yourself, Mr. Grant." He held out his hand, and the Australian gave it a hearty shake.

Light, ever the bear of a man, got a hug for his troubles before Titus Grant turned, and laughing, ran towards his waiting helicopter. The Australian climbed aboard, and the helo rose from the ground, and vanished south, towards the shore and the waiting transport ships.

Wily nodded once, then turned about and made tracks. Light followed in his footsteps, waiting a breath before speaking again. "Well, it's just you and me now, isn't it?"

Wily folded his arms behind his back. "How come you didn't go with him, Thomas? He was right, you know. You should have gone with him."

"Yes, I could have." Light agreed. "And I could have stayed in untouched Australia, and helped Titus to make the best damn Network ever…but then I realized that the global network, as it is right now, is enough. And for as much as I'd like to, there are far more important things that I could be doing here in the Second Rainbow than fiddling with IP addresses."

"Such as?"

"Helping you." Dr. Light answered.

The mad scientist of the long-forgotten Institute halted, then turned around and stared. "Have you lost it completely? I warned you once eight years ago about helping me. Besides, robotics isn't your field of specialty."

"No…and code wasn't yours, but that didn't stop you from working with me." Thomas berated his friend. "Just take the damn help."

Wily scoffed again and kept walking, though not so fast that he moved beyond Light's shoulders. "When did you learn robotics?"

"…Vanessa taught me." Light finally answered.

Wily considered that, smiling after a time. "I see. How much did she teach you?"

"Enough."

Wily slipped his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. "We'll see, Tom. We'll see." Light harrumphed and smiled back, and the two friends walked on. They were what the world needed, but more importantly, they were what they needed.

Partners.

* * *

_June 7__th__, 2047 C.E._

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_Second Rainbow Headquarters (SRHQ)_

_The (Unfinished) 3__rd__ Division, 12__th__ Laboratory Unit_

_10:49 A.M._

Light grunted and set down another box of supplies. "Jesus, that's heavy. Hey, Albert, what all did you pack in this thing? BRICKS?"

Out in the hallway, Wily let out his own tired breath of air, not used to the manual labor of transporting their supplies. "It's all the equipment they let me cobble together. And yes, we need all of it."

"Does it have to be so damn heavy, though?"

"Oh, quit your bitching. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You're a frigging lumberjack, you know that? Deal with the heavy lifting." Wily shot back, snickering at the end.

Light wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. "Smartass." He mumbled. "And you still owe me that three fifty!"

"When we get paid, you'll get it then, you miser."

A light flickered on and off inside the room, and Light glared at the ceiling with murderous intent. "What, is the roof going to start leaking now, too?"

In response to his question, Oliver Xanthos walked into the room, a box under one arm and his beard looking bright and bushy. "If it does, you just let me know. I'll stick a firecracker under the ass of the construction crews."

"Mr. Xanthos!" Thomas Light exclaimed, stepping over to the entrance and nodding politely. "What brings you down here?" Wily came in as well, hefting another box and leaving it beside the one Light had dropped earlier with a loud thud and an _oof_ of breath.

Xanthos regarded the pair with a faint smile. "Housewarming gift. Now that you've been given your own little corner of the SRHQ, I figure it's the least I can do. Is this section to your liking?"

"It needs work." Wily admitted, wincing at the flickering light overhead. "But, it's kind of homey. Reminds me of my lab back at the Institute, almost."

Xanthos glanced about, raising an eyebrow. "Does it? Well. That must be a good omen. And sort of related to why I'm here."

Wily leaned on one of the work counters, drumming his fingers against it as a slow smile crept over his face. "Is it now?"

Xanthos blinked, and then chuffed disgustedly as he set the box down. "Well, if you're going to have that kind of an attitude, then maybe I should take this back."

"No, no, I apologize." Wily hastily retreated.

Light looked between the two conspirators and shook his head. "All right, what's going on?"

"It's simple, Doctor Light." Mr. Xanthos went on, back in his swing once more. "I was told by Dr. Albert Wily that there was a tradition back at the Institute. That place was a symbol for hopes and the power of science to exact positive changes on the lives of humanity. I decided the least I could do was bring back some of its spirit."

Xanthos opened up his box and dug inside. "Apparently, everybody who joined the Institute received a particular garment, which marked them as a member of the cause, however distinct."

Light blinked a few times, then realized only half a second before the first piece of clothing left the box, what Xanthos meant.

He drew in a breath as he found himself staring at a peerless, perfect white lab coat. He looked over to Wily, who smiled and shrugged. "One free with every stint in the madhouse, as Simdorn used to say."

"Mine for life." Light finished, echoing the man who had somehow inspired them both. He slipped it on, and smiled. "It's even my size!"

"I must tell you, it wasn't easy finding one that big." Xanthos added, handing Wily his own. "But we managed to dig one out."

"Thank you." Light said gratefully, immersing himself in the feel of it. "Both of you."

Xanthos clucked his tongue. "It's a small favor. Consider it a down payment on the miracles you two have yet to accomplish."

Light looked at their most visible benefactor dubiously. "You seem sure of that. How?"

"Because, he has hope." Albert Wily concluded, patting Light on the shoulder with a wry smile that made his mustache twitch. "Just like we all do."

Standing there between them, Light thought about it, and finally nodded in agreement. Hope may have been a precious commodity in the new age, but standing at the forefront of the Second Rainbow, and with a connected world to guide them…

Hope was alive and well.


	10. Cultivated Penance

**_MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT_**

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**CHAPTER NINE: CULTIVATED PENANCE**

_"We have inherited an incredibly beautiful and complex garden, but the trouble is that we have been appallingly bad gardeners..."_

_-_Gerald Durrell

_"The best friend of earth of man is the tree. When we use the tree respectfully and economically, we have one of the greatest resources on the earth."_

_-_Frank Lloyd Wright

* * *

_The Second Rainbow Headquarters (SRHQ), 3rd Division, 12th Unit_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_December 16th, 2048 C.E._

_4:14 P.M._

The QB/M's, or Kewbees, had once been hailed as a sturdy working robot, built for intolerable conditions and work considered too dangerous for humans. The world had shuddered when it had learned of the Kewbee's true potential, as worldwide distribution and the malicious plans of the United States military set the world ablaze. Controlled by humans with joysticks behind viewscreens, The "Gaiden" series wreaked havoc everywhere they resided. The world had believed the lies, that Dr. Albert W. Wily had built them for that express purpose, when such couldn't be farther from the truth.

Of course, when the truth had come out, Wily's name had been cleared, and the United States had been demonized. Every Kewbee that had ever walked the earth, with a few rare exceptions, had been turned to scrap for the years of suffering and madness they had caused.

One such rarity now stumbled around the office and laboratory of two of the most respected (And hermit-like) men in all the Second Rainbow, adorned in a bright blue chrome color scheme and watching everything with scanning blue optics.

Blue, of course, irked Wily to no end, which was why his friend and partner, Dr. Thomas X. Light had repainted the Kewbee he affectionately called "Kay" in the first place.

Wily kicked halfheartedly at the thing as it scooted past him and waddled over to Light's side, handing up the wrench Light had sent him to get. "Why blue, Tom? What's your perverse fascination with that color, hmm?"

Light's beard was still as thick as ever, seeming to grow larger in proportion to the amount of hair that Wily lost from his scalp. He tightened the nut on his latest piece of work and shrugged. "It relaxes me. No other reason."

"Sure." Wily snapped irritably, rubbing at his growing bald spot. "I swear, Tom, there are days I feel like Albert Einstein."

"Well, that's good, because you look like Albert Einstein."

"Funny. Real funny." Wily sighed, leaning back in his seat and looking to his latest E-Mail. "I don't understand people, Tom. Now, when we need the Kewbees more than ever to work in the places still too irradiated and toxic for humans to be in, the people of the world have decided that they all need to be destroyed."

"...You must be talking about that new U.N. Referendum the General Council passed." Light set his wrench down and propped his elbows up on the table, resting his head on his hands. "I understand why we need the Kewbees, Albert, but I also understand why we can't use them. They were used as weapons of war. No matter what happens, they will always carry that stain."

"And yet here, in our own laboratory, you bothered to have a team fly out to your old hut by Lake Quesnel just so you could have this one singular Kewbee." Dr. Wily retaliated sharply. "Tell me, how do you condemn an entire generation of robots, but spare one the world's wrath? Or does hypocrisy hold no sway over you?"

Light raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised at the harsh reaction. "Are you that upset, Albert? You usually spare _me_ your vitriol."

Wily sighed loudly and rubbed at his forehead with a hand. "But for the efforts of a few madmen that now stand out of power, scorned and imprisoned, what had been my crowning achievement now is scrap. I apologize, Thomas. I'm not mad at you. I am angered that my legacy must suffer for the sins of a few terrible men."

"Well, Albert, you know what they say about the Second Rainbow." Dr. Light suggested, smiling and throwing over his latest work. Wily caught the object with a frantic grab, and stared at it.

It was a small spider-like robot, with a single spherical eye that hung above it, silent as the rest of the unpowered automaton. It wasn't anything special, but what impressed Wily was that Light had built it out of spare parts alone, and turned near-scrap into a complete whole.

"Now's the time for new beginnings." Light said, smiling.

* * *

_SRHQ_

_Central Operations Room_

_4:19 P.M._

The Second Rainbow's multitudes were divided into divisions and units based on their focus, training, and expertise. In spite of this, the bureaucracy splitting them apart was sparse at best, and they mingled freely. It was because of that you'd see one of the physicists from the First Division spending time looking over data tables with a botanist or biologist from the Second Division. The Third Division, which was composed of the engineers of the Second Rainbow, seemed to be omnipresent, and even the less viewed Fourth Division, which was the overseeing hierarchy of officials and politicians in the United Nations and abroad, had occasion at least once a day to step outside of their doors to see how things were going and offer words of encouragement.

Rebecca June hadn't been lying when she had said that the world needed them all; the minds that existed in the Alaskan tundra were all enlightened enough to see themselves as more than a sparse collection of experts from every tradition of the sciences that existed. They were key to the survival of the remaining 40 percent of the world population. Perhaps nothing had helped that lesson to sink in more than Miss June's demise by cancer in January...a scant three weeks before the 4th Unit of the Second Division came up with a way to neutralize the long-term mutative effects of radiation poisoning. Even now, there were some involved with the field of medicine that pushed themselves farther than the rest, out of penance or guilt for her death.

They were making progress by leaps and bounds; with truly limitless resources at their disposal, and infinite cooperation from a humbled and tattered world. The teams of the Second Rainbow seemed to be aiming for a miracle every month.

It didn't mean that they always got them, though.

_I feel like I'm being punished by my mother all over again_, Darwin Vinkus thought to himself as he absorbed the latest reports from the meteorological team's unofficial leader, Dr. Paul Beskin. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering if it was safe yet to take another dose of aspirin. He'd already popped a few at lunch from another dismal update on the malaria outbreak in central Africa, and this hadn't helped matters.

Beskin cleared his throat. "Sir..."

"Yes, I heard you." Vinkus sighed, wearing the year since Rebecca's passing with wrinkles over a young face turned old by worry and stress. "The ozone layer's thinning."

"Not thinning, sir." Beskin answered, trying to emphasize very clearly the deadly implications. "_Thinned_. The ozone layer is responsible for helping to deflect harmful ultraviolet rays, and we've been taking readings every day since the atmospheric observational satellites came back online. Between 2040 and 2048, we saw a 46 percent reduction in the global ozone layer. This wasn't localized damage, sir. It's everything. Since then, it's continued to thin at a rate of 0.16 percent per month."

Vinkus hated this part of the job; he wasn't a scientist, and he'd never claimed to be one. He was a young man who had been shoved into military service in a time of war, and who had risen, because of a cool head and a rational mind, to a position of authority within the new United Nations structure due to his experience as a peacekeeper in Japan. Even here in the Second Rainbow, his duties had only been to 'coordinate' the activities of the Alaskan headquarters with United Nations units stationed around the world: This had meant, effectively, he made sure that people got what they needed, and got to where they needed to be. Rebecca June's job had been added to his own since her death, and he wore the mantle of site coordinator very uneasily.

"Put it in words I can understand." Vinkus told Dr. Beskin, spacing his hands with six inches between them. "Small. Simple."

"When the ozone layer thinned over Antarctica, the continent started to get bombarded with UV and other rays that would have normally been stopped. This is somewhere like eight...maybe twelve times worse. Ultraviolet rays kill things. In the case of UV-C, it kills people."

_That_ got Vinkus' attention in short order. "The Wars are over." The makeshift bureaucrat snapped irritably. "People shouldn't be dying!"

"People will start dying, though." Dr. Beskin replied quietly. "The fallout from the world powers' moderate atomic use eroded the atmosphere far more efficiently than decades of Chlorofluorocarbon use could."

_There's not enough aspirin in this whole damn facility to fix this headache_, Vinkus deduced. "So to summarize, we've really shot ourselves in the foot here. We've got an ozone half of what it was before the shooting started, which means we're going to start seeing more cancer, more mutations, more death. So the obvious solution is that the ozone layer needs fixing."

Dr. Beskin seemed dubious about the enterprise. "Sir...Are you sure that..."

"Oh, come on now." Vinkus snorted. "I took basic chemistry. Ozone's just three atoms of oxygen stuck together. Run an electric charge through the air, and you can smell it burning."

_"It's not that easy, sir."_ Dr. Jane interjected. She was the only person on the meeting who wasn't there in person, as she spoke over a satellite phone line. _"We simply don't have the oxygen supplies needed to even attempt such a project. There's been a marked increase in carbon dioxide as well, and the surviving plant life can't keep up."_

Vinkus shut his eyes and rubbed at them. "Let me guess. UV radiation?"

Dr. Jane's voice was soft. _"I'm afraid so. It's wreaking havoc in the sparse regions of natural forest left in the world. They just can't survive the new climate. Our crops in Australia aren't doing as well as we'd hoped, either...we've had to resort to putting tinted domes over the fields to counteract it."_

"And all of this on top of the food shortages, the energy shortages, the lasting effects of nuclear, chemical, and biological warfare, and any meaningful international infrastructure." Vinkus finished.

Vinkus leaned back in his seat and winced as a pain flared up in his stomach. He hoped that it was just acid reflux, and not an ulcer. "So. Would somebody else like to try and summarize this one? I'm running out of steam here."

A new voice coughed for attention, and all the heads turned to an eccentric botanist who had been assigned only two months before from Great Britain; an outright cad who went by the name of Ezriah Hyrmue.

The man lifted his eyeglasses up and nested them in his hair. "Thanks to the Wars of 2040, we've essentially killed off the ozone layer. Without it, we've exposed ourselves and all life on this planet to the harmful, life-threatening effects of ultraviolet radiation. Increased carbon dioxide in the atmosphere has raised the global temperatures to a worrisome, almost point of no return level, and the one hope of restoring the proper oxygen balance...our jungles, our forests, our wilderness zones, are so badly beaten down from war and the ongoing effects of ozone loss that they're crippled, dying, or dead. Ergo, we are _boned_, as the saying used to be...Boned, because we've managed to destroy the only thing that could save us."

Beskin sighed and pulled his report back. "Christ, you don't pussyfoot around it, do you Hyrmue? But you left out one part. Even if, and I don't know how in God's name this would happen, we should manage to restore the oxygen balance, the ozone replenishing reaction in the atmosphere has gone stagnant. And I don't know a damned thing about restarting high atmospheric electrical discharges."

"Before we're done, you may have to write the book on it." Darwin Vinkus told the meteorologist, drumming his fingers on his desk and looking at the team leaders. "All right. This just became priority number one. Anybody who isn't working on a critical, and I mean _absolutely critical_ project, you're going to start some collaborative efforts. I'm putting three teams in charge of this."

The assembled waited, and Vinkus began to point them out. "Beskin, your team's going to supervise the ongoing diagnostics. You're also going to have to figure out a way to restore this...replenishing reaction, you called it. And no, don't argue with me. Just run under the assumption that the others will get the balance to where it needs to be."

His steady index finger moved and pointed at the phone on his desk. "Dr. Jane, I hate to press you any more, given your ongoing frustrations with food production, but I'm going to need you and as much of your division as possible working on a way to bolster plants to cope with the increased UV load. Hell, we spliced corn's genetic material so much it could almost glow in the dark. If we can't find a way to restore the forests, and to keep them alive, Beskin's work is going to be a moot point." The botanical engineer said nothing, perhaps feeling overwhelmed, and Vinkus opted to throw her a bone. "Recruit anybody else from the other teams as you need them. I imagine you'll want the genetics division under Menendez working with you."

Vinkus paused for a moment, and the people left in the room all tensed up. He had one soul left to call on, and that was worrisome. At long last, though, his hand gravitated to one last soul, who was incredibly stunned.

"...Hyrmue, you're our third wing on this."

"Me, sir?" Hyrmue asked disbelievingly. "What can I do? I'm just a botanist..."

"A botanist who spent years approaching things from a very mechanical perspective. Your work on diagnostic monitoring of the soil and internal plant conditions is going to be vital for tracking the life expectancy of whatever creations Dr. Jane's team comes up with." Vinkus answered, assuaging the man's self doubts. "Beggars can't be choosers, Mr. Hyrmue. Make it happen." The de facto leader of the Second Rainbow clapped his hands together, ending the meeting. "All right, people. We've got jobs to do, let's get to it."

The teams began to filter out, and Hyrmue lingered, watching Vinkus. The U.N. director sighed and drummed his fingers again. "Yes, Dr. Hyrmue?"

"Sir, I just don't understand...I'm new here. I'm untested. Hell, I was a pariah in the scientific community. I haven't been involved in my field of expertise in four years. Why are you putting me in charge of this project?"

"Technically, I'm not." Vinkus reminded the man. "I'm making you the third wheel."

"Mr. Vinkus, I'm not used to anyone here. I'm not used to HERE." The British scientist exclaimed. "How in the devil am I supposed to work with anyone else here, when I don't have a team of my own under me, much less the respect of my colleagues?"

Vinkus stared at him for a long moment, and set his hands together. "First off, I'm shipping you out to Australia tomorrow, as you'll be working with Dr. Jane, and she's already down there overseeing the first wave of new crops. Besides, you're hardly the only loose screw in this loony bin, to coin a phrase. As for respect, it's earned here, and earned quickly, if you're sharp and stay pressed to the task." Vinkus stood up and waved Hyrmue out. "This place was made for second chances, I think. Maybe it will be yours as well."

The (Temporary, he told himself) head of the Second Rainbow turned his desk around, as clear a sign of dismissal that there would ever be. "In the meantime, get the Hell out. You're bothering me."

* * *

_3rd Division, 12th Unit _

_4:32 P.M._

**Ding-dong.**

Light and Wily looked up from their tasks, looking first to the door and then each other.

"Not it!" Shouted Wily.

"Not...aah, shit." Light swore, answering too late to be spared the trouble of getting up. He sighed and went over to the door of their laboratory, opening it up with a surprised look on his face. "Oliver?"

Oliver Xanthos, the eccentric benefactor of the Second Rainbow and its hidden envoy of cheerfulness hefted a package under one arm and grinned at Dr. Light. "So we're using first names, now? I suppose I could do that. Brought you boys a package."

Light stepped aside and let him come in. "Is it those new power cells from Dr. Flynn?"

"Bailey Flynn?" Wily asked, setting his notepad down. "Isn't he working on fusion power?"

"As much as he can, given that most available deuterium is stuck in the moon." Xanthos explained. "That, and also that nobody's been able to make a sustainable fusion reaction."

"That's not quite true. Los Alamos got pretty close before the war ended." Wily pointed out, walking over to join them.

"Not like it did them much good." Light mumbled. "There's not much left of Los Alamos except a big glass crater. The Central American forces saw to that. But relax, Albert. I had asked Dr. Flynn for some more of those ion fuel cells."

Mr. Xanthos set the box down and shook his head. "Sorry, you two. This didn't come from Flynn, but you might appreciate it anyhow. This was postmarked from Australia."

Wily and Light exchanged a surprised look that quickly became one of excitement. They only knew one person in Australia that would send them a package.

"I'll be damned if our old buddy Titus didn't send us something!" Light exclaimed, ripping the top of the package open. Inside, he found a handwritten note sitting atop six bottles of alcohol.

_ Oi, Fellas..._

_ Thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you? No such luck, mates! You're long overdue for a trip to the land down under, and I thought I might send you something as incentive. This here's my dirty little secret; I've become a distiller on the side. It's strong stuff, though; tear your head off if you're not careful. I was lucky to snitch enough wheat from the fields to make it._

_ They're getting worried down here about something; nobody tells me what, of course, because I'm just their web engineer. What do you say you two come down and help me rattle some cages?_

_ -Your old mate, Titus_

Light read the note soundlessly, then passed it over to Wily as he reached for the first bottle. It was capped tightly. "Damn. Say, Al, you wouldn't happen to have a..."

Mr. Xanthos pulled an old fashioned bottle opener from his pocket. "Here, use mine."

Light popped the bottle open with a grateful look. "You're an awfully handy fellow to have around, Ollie."

"...Call me Oliver." The billionaire remarked, looking ruffled by Light's nickname. "Please."

"My apologies. Oliver it is then." Light took a sniff of the alcohol and felt his nose hairs burn. "WHOO!" He coughed, pulling it away from his face. "This stuff could peel paint!"

"That's such an odd phrase." Wily snorted, putting Grant's note back in the opened package. "Odder coming from you, Tom. It's nice of him to think of us, though I'm not sure if moonshine was the best choice of present."

"Relax, Al." Dr. Light told his friend, walking over and retrieving a fully loaded test tube rack. "I'm not going to get drunk." He never would again, he told himself somberly. He might break that promise some day, but for now, the memory of Latch lingered in him strong enough to overwhelm the compulsion. "But I do think a toast or six is in order."

"Might I sample the local fare as well?" Mr. Xanthos asked, smiling bemusedly. "What did his message say, anyhow?"

"He mostly complained about how things were going down in Australia with the others." Dr. Wily picked up a test tube and weighed it between his fingers. "He also invited us to come visit him...not like we can spare the time, or the resources for a pleasure trip."

"You can't?" Mr. Xanthos rebuffed, raising his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"We've got some projects on our plate still. Al's been working on some designs for Beskin; high altitude probe gliders and the like, and I've been running some program code for Mick Jannsen down in Australia for his solar grids."

"Nonsense!" Oliver Xanthos laughed. "You boys need a break. It's the summer down in Australia now, and I can't think of a better time to take a vacation. Besides, you mentioned that you're doing some work for someone in Australia already. If you're that worried about your work, take it with you."

Light thought about it and looked to Wily. "What do you think, Al?"

"I work here, I work there, it makes little difference to me." Dr. Wily told his partner. "Although, I suppose we should pay our respects to Titus."

"Good." Mr. Xanthos said, ending the debate. "I'm glad you agreed to it. I would have hated fixing you up with an impromptu psych evaluation to force the trip."

Light laughed and poured out three measured doses of the Australian moonshine into the test tubes. "Oh, come off it, Oliver. We realize you're an eccentric billionaire, and our most prominent benefactor here, but even that's beyond you." He passed around the vials of potent alcohol.

Mr. Xanthos merely smiled, chuckling softly as he accepted his drink. "Of course it is. Just making light of the situation, I suppose. Very well, then. A toast!"

"What shall we toast to?" Wily asked, glancing at his own test tube as though it contained a precise dose of poison...which, given the potency of the distilled moonshine, probably wasn't far from the truth of it.

Mr. Xanthos considered the choices, and nodded. "I have one." He announced finally. "To the sunrise, which is yet ours."

Wily scoffed. "Oh, that's incredibly sentimental...No, I think I'll drink to the Second Rainbow, which gave us all a second chance. What about you, Tom?"

The less experienced roboticist stared into the vial of moonshine in his hand, and gave it more thought than he might have otherwise. "...To Vanessa. May she be happy, wherever she is."

Though none of the three would admit openly, even in that intimate setting, what caused them to wear such cheerful masks over a battered interior, each found the toasts telling. They drank to the pain they remembered, and a part of their lives that, while buried in the pressing needs of today, always lingered near the surface. Each drank to a promise of hope that the days to come would yet be better for themselves, and for the world. The burning sensation that coated their throats carried vulgar symbolism, for all around them, and all within.

Each stood tall at the end of the toast, stunned by its potency, but still enduring. That, perhaps, gave them the most hope of all...if they lived through examples.

* * *

_Ewan Lake Airfield, Alaska_

_December 17th, 2048 C.E._

_9:15 A.M._

The plane's engines were already whining to start up, and at the rear of the converted cargo plane, Dr. Wily had to shout to be heard over the noise. His red tie fluttered in the exhaust, and he put his hands to his mouth. "Move it, Tom! This thing's taking off!"

Huffing and puffing all the way across the tarmac (for although he had once been in terrific shape, the sedentary lifestyle within the Second Rainbow had turned some of his powerful body into paunch), Dr. Thomas Light flew as fast as his feet could take him, with his traveler's suitcase bouncing off his side.

As if to taunt him, the rear hatch of the aircraft began to rise when he was ten feet away.

"Oh, for the love of..." Light wheezed, and gunned it. He threw his travel bag through the air in an arc, sending it soaring over Wily's head and into the belly of the plane. He couldn't rightly throw himself, and so it was that he ended up making a mighty jump to the rising rim of the door. He impacted hard against the metal, the edge digging into his groin hard enough to make his eyes go wide and all else disappear into exploding stars.

When he came to, Wily was dragging him inside the cargo bay by his arms, with the floor becoming a vertical surface underneath him. The scientist of German descent seemed none too happy.

"Damnit, Tom, you're too heavy for me to...OOF!" The complaint was cut off as the rear hatch of the plane closed, and Thomas slid down the rest of the way. He crashed into Albert, collapsing them into a pile of limbs and bruises.

Dr. Light let out a groan at long last, as his testicles began to send countless messages of pain to him. "Ohh."

"Don't 'OH' me, Tom! Get off of me!" Wily howled, shoving his partner off of himself none too gently. "_Mein Gott! _How heavy are you, anyway? Two-fifty? Two-seventy five?"

A hearty laugh greeted the two from the seating as a still off-kilter Light was led by his friend to the middle of the plane. As the turbojet equipped transport had been partially converted, the seats were arranged facing each other in groups of four, and with plenty of space between them. Despite his better judgment, or to deal with the source of the noise, Wily dropped Light in the chair opposite of the subsiding chuckles.

Wily sat down beside Light and stared at the laugh's originator; A clean-shaven, short-haired man with twinkling brown eyes that watched through his eyeglasses with humorous intent. Like Light and Wily, the man was in his thirties...but clearly on the far side of it by a year or more than they.

"My apologies, gentlemen." The fellow said, staving off another round of chortling. "I hope you're feeling all right after that little incident."

"...Was...my fault." Light wheezed, still having very little voice. "Had to find...swimming trunks."

Wily rolled his eyes, but for a change, their fellow rider said little. They were the only ones at the back of the transport, though there were some other Second Rainbow and U.N. personnel nearer to the front of the modified cargo bay.

The whine of the turbojet engines picked up, and the plane vibrated slightly as they started down the runway. The three men fastened their safety harnesses, and then watched each other as the vibrations increased. Finally, there was a moment of sweeping lightness, and the vibrations cut out. Out the side window, the ground fell away.

Their fellow passenger spoke with a soft British accent, but with a hint of Scottish that hadn't been completely unlearned. "Swimming trunks? You gents do realize that this flight is going to Australia?"

"Yes, of course." Dr. Wily replied. "We're visiting a friend there. He sent us an invitation, and we figured we needed the vacation."

The brown-haired brit sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'm afraid you won't find one down there; it's been all the talk lately. Who did you say you two were again?"

"We didn't." Light replied, finally seeming to regain his senses. "But I'm Dr. Light and this fellow off my side is Dr. Wily."

"_The_ Light and Wily?" The man echoed, almost awed. "Get off!"

"No, really." Wily groused, rolling his eyes. "Can't you tell by the hair?"

"Oh, God yes, the hair." Light guffawed. "We can't get enough of that hair, can we? But regardless, who are you? And what did you mean we won't find a vacation down there?"

"Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue at your service. As to what I meant...Well, the reason why you won't be spending any time down at the beach is also why they're sending _me_ down to the outback." The scientist paused only long enough to size the two back up before pressing on. "The global ozone layer's thinning to death-inducing levels. Unless we can restore the oxygen balance and trigger the O3 reaction, the only vacation you two will be getting is a permanent one."

Dr. Hyrmue watched the two, waiting for some great response. None came, although Dr. Light did pull a pipe out of his lab coat's breast pocket and began stuffing it with tobacco.

"You two seem to be taking the news rather well." Ezriah went on dryly.

Lighting up his main vice, Light shrugged resignedly. "It's just refreshing to hear somebody speak in grandiose clichés. I could get used to it."

* * *

_Camden International Airport_

_Just Outside Sydney, Australia_

_10:42 A.M. Australian Eastern Time_

Light and Wily didn't take it as a good sign that even before their plane had begun its final approach to the solid ground of the spared island continent, a steward was approaching them with a phone.

"Dr. Light? Dr. Wily?" He asked, waiting until they nodded. "We have a secure satellite call from Second Rainbow Headquarters for you."

Both Light and Wily let out a sigh at the same time, then turned to each other with their fists raised. Dr. Hyrmue and the steward watched curiously as the friends and partners shook their fists in tandem, and then flashed a symbol. Wily held out his index and middle fingers, and Light kept his fist solidly packed.

Light pulled his hand back, grinning triumphantly. "Rock beats scissors. You answer."

"One of these days, I'm going to remember you usually throw Rock first." Wily berated himself, reaching for the steward's offered phone. He set it against his ear and let his irritation become known. "Wily here. Who's calling?"

Hyrmue stifled a chuckle, drawing Light's attention to him. "Oh, that's pithy. Do you two usually solve your problems that way?"

"I think we've become too accustomed to the order it brings to change now." Dr. Light told the man lazily. "Besides, it isn't broke, so there's no need to fix it, what with everything else we have to finish."

The steward cleared his throat. "We're on final approach, gentlemen. Please make sure you're belted in. Once we've landed, please wait until the protective outerwear has been distributed before disembarking."

Light raised an eyebrow at the unusual note. "Is the UV risk that high?"

"Half a day's worth of direct exposure is enough, without treatment, to kill a person." The steward answered grimly. "So be careful."

Beside the first conversation, Wily sat trapped in his own, oblivious to Light's new discovery. "Uh-huh. Right. I'll see what I can come up with. I'll call you back in a day." He ended the call and handed the phone back to the steward, who quickly moved to buckle himself in as well. "You won't believe who just called."

"Mahatma Gandhi?" Thomas Light asked, smiling and tugging on his beard.

"Paul Beskin." Wily replied, ignoring the joke. "The old unforgiving bastard himself. Seems he needs our help."

"What for?"

Hyrmue stepped into the conversation almost casually. "Probably to help him build some sort of high altitude drone capable of supporting high-energy discharge emitters of some sort." Wily turned his head sharply about, and Hyrmue shrugged. "He's working on a different part of the same problem."

The captain issued a brief message of warning, and there was a slight bump as the descending plane, tilted upwards ever so slightly, touched its back wheels down. When the nose settled, Wily let out a sigh. "Well, back to terra firma, as they say."

"You mean, you like flying?" Dr. Light asked his colleague. The mustachioed roboticist nodded.

"Oh yes. It was a childhood dream of mine to fly like Superman...wasn't that yours?"

Light shuddered. "Why do you think I was glad that they allowed smoking on the flight? It was the only thing that kept me from crawling the walls."

Hyrmue laughed at the two distinctly different men. "Blimey, this one can't wait to land, and you think you're a bird. I get the feeling you would perfect antigravity, if you had a mind to!"

Wily smiled at the notion, then looked out of the heavily tinted window to the Australian landscape. "Maybe some day."

* * *

"By Gad, would you look at the two of you?" Titus Grant laughed, as they walked into the airport terminal. Before the two Second Rainbow scientists could protest, their former comrade had bowled them both over into a mighty hug. "Is it my imagination, Albert, or did you lose even more hair since I last saw you?"

Dr. Wily shrugged and rubbed at his growing bald spot. "Who knows?"

Titus chuckled a bit and led them onwards. "Come on, let's go pick up your baggage at the roundabout and get out of here. The U.N's set you up with your own quarters in Sydney while you're here...Close to mine, really."

"Oh, good. I don't suppose you have any more of that...sample you sent us?" Light asked hopefully. Titus said nothing for a moment, walking on ahead of them, then shook his head.

"Afraid not, Thomas. The way things are going around here, it'll be some time before you'll get something like that again. But there are still a few caches of hard liquor available for public consumption...provided you're a worker in the Restoration like we are."

"Services for the servants." Wily muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. "Nothing Orwellian about that, is there?"

"Oh, hush you." Dr. Light chided him. "I imagine Flora Jane has her hands full trying to feed the world without you grousing about overplayed prophetic novels that never played out right."

"I suppose." Wily admitted, fingering the wide-brimmed hat that he'd been given for head protection. "I don't envy her right now, though, having to meet with that Dr. Hyrmue."

Light laughed a little bit. "How much time did you spend with Flora Jane before you got toted off to work on the Gaidens, Al?"

"Not very much, she wasn't exactly my kind of woman." Dr. Wily admitted, putting his hat back on and stuffing his hands back in his pockets. "Why do you ask?"

Light hummed a small riff of bluegrass music to himself and shook his head. "Knowing Flo like I do...I would say it's better to feel sorry for Dr. Hyrmue."

* * *

_Dreamtime Fields (Second Rainbow Australian Test Farm)_

_25 Miles West_

_45 Minutes Later_

They'd had a shielded vehicle waiting for him when the plane touched down in Sydney, but beyond that, the courtesy ended. The vehicle had taken him Dreamtime Fields, so named in honor of the aboriginal Australian natives who had come to the rescue of the 'civilized' population during the years of the Wars when supplies were scarce. It was a point of pride nowadays for an Australian to be fully accepted as a member of a tribe, if only for the survival skills they gained because of it.

Thanks to a combination of bumpy, only partially graded roads and the air conditioner breaking down, Ezriah was more than happy to get clear of the van when it rolled to a stop beside a large warehouse-looking complex out in the middle of nowhere. "Finally made it." He exhaled, ignoring the beaded sweat on his brow as he doffed the cumbersome protective coat and hat that he'd been given before leaving his airplane. "This ozone thing's going to drive me bonkers."

The driver looked at him dubiously. "That's why you're here though, isn't it?"

"I am, lad, I am." The English botanist answered weakly. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it. I'm used to drizzle and fog, not the swelter of the savanna." Hyrmue got out and closed his door, pounding it after. "Right, off you go then!"

"Good luck, sir!" The driver called back, and Hyrmue's ride turned around and vanished in a cloud of dust.

The scientist sighed and headed in through the front door, and after a time and with some help from some friendly fellow botanists, found his way to Dr. Flora Jane.

He found the American woman standing beside a bed of barely developed plants, writing something on a digital clipboard with more force than she likely needed.

"Er, Dr. Jane, I presume?" Hyrmue said, hoping to break the ice.

The woman didn't turn around, but pointed with her pen to the neat row of underdeveloped greenery. "These rice plants are supposed to be four inches high by now; they're a part of our low water strain. How high do they look to you?"

Hyrmue winced; all business, and cold at that. "Er, I'd say about two...How long have they been at it then? A couple of weeks?"

"Two months." Flora Jane spat out the answer disgustedly. "Two _months_ and there's not enough here to feed a rabbit."

She finally turned around to address him, and froze Hyrmue in her icy blue eyes. "Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue. I was wondering when you'd show up; you're a tad later than I expected you to be."

"Sorry about that, love." Hyrmue apologized, flashing one of his disarming smiles. "Bit of turbulence just west of Hawaii. You understand."

She stared at him, leaving the British botanist feeling as though he'd been put under a microscope. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"One that didn't take, apparently." He admitted, bowing his head. "All right, then. Where do you want me?"

"When's the last time you've worked in the field of botany or crop engineering, Dr. Hyrmue? Three, four years?" She pressed him. He offered a conciliatory shrug and she kept her sigh to a minimal huff. "Wonderful. All right, then. For the time being, I'm assigning you to Dr. Warand until you can get up to speed. That may take a while, since according to your files, genetics wasn't your strong suit."

She moved to turn away, but Dr. Hyrmue raised his hand. "Er, begging your pardon, love, but d'you mean to say that we're focusing our efforts entirely on genetics? What about the carbon dioxide footprint, the oxygen imbalance in the atmosphere?"

Dr. Jane paused and then turned around to face him. "This facility's purpose is to use the Svalbard seed vault's bounty to try and feed what's left of this shattered world. Fanciful dreams about restoring the ozone layer aside, our main concern is keeping the cereal crops from keeling over because of ultraviolet radiation."

Hyrmue pursed his lips. "It was my understanding that I was being sent here to aid you in solving the ozone crisis."

"You thought wrong." Dr. Jane replied coldly. "You're here because you're a warm body, and because Vinkus thinks you have something to offer us. We deal with realities here, not pipe dreams. Go ahead and get settled in, and then report to Dr. Warand in an hour. He's working on trying to get a build of soybeans to a feasible stage. I suggest you leave your delusions of grandeur at the door...We left ours back in Alaska with the rest of the uninformed."

Dr. Jane excused herself and disappeared, leaving a suddenly depressed Hyrmue to shake his head and try to rationalize her dispassionate attitude. Who knew? Maybe he'd feel the same after a couple months of frustration and disappointment.

"Wonderful place they've got here." He muttered to himself, moving towards the living quarters.

He made one last desperate prayer that he would never become as bitter as she was.

* * *

_Canberra Central Communications (Branch Office), Sydney, Australia _

_December 28th, 2048 C.E._

_2:17 P.M._

"Now this brings back memories." Light chuckled. He had a tiny machine head screwdriver clenched in his teeth as he spoke, bent over a disassembled server. Titus Grant stood opposite of him, holding a flashlight so they could look into the box's interior.

"Good memories, I hope." Titus remarked, peering at the server's guts. "These solid state memory cores are definitely more reliable, but they're Hell to diagnose and replace."

Light's eyes scanned the drives, and then he reached inside and pulled out a wafer with a triumphant grin. "All right, I found the warning light."

"That's the easy part. Now how are you planning on fixin' it?" Titus asked. "It's not like we've got a spare memory core."

"Where's your voltmeter?"

Titus blinked. "Ah...Hold on a tick, it's somewhere around here." Titus murmured, moving towards his toolbench. "Do you suspect the whole wafer's bad?"

"No." Dr. Light replied, setting the memory core on the workbench and shining a light on it. "Usually it's just a certain pathway or a logic junction that's corroded. If we can identify the one that's on the blink, we can jury-rig this wafer to route signals around the dead spot."

Titus grunted as he rifled through the mess cluttered about his toolbench. "I've tested boards before, but I never made one work regardless of damage. You can really do that?"

"I spent the years before the Second Rainbow came along helping native Canadians get their machinery working again." Light said grimly. "I didn't have extra circuit boards lying around. I made do with what I had."

"You could write a paper on it...you could be famous!" Titus exclaimed, digging and finally finding his voltmeter buried underneath a pile of loose wires.

Light snorted. "Oh, I think I'm famous enough already." He replied, taking the voltmeter from Titus. "A little privacy is all I want now."

"Right, good luck with that." Titus chuckled, folding his arms. "Me, I've been swarmin' in sheilas since I got back from Alaska. Love every minute of it." Titus got a sly look in his eyes and leaned over to Light. "Say, I could introduce you to some of them if you'd like..."

Light's smile strained. "No thanks."

Titus smirked. "Oh, come on. How long's it been since you..."

"Eight years." Light replied instantly.

Titus stared at him. "God, how can you not plow a field in 8 years and stay sane?!"

"It's called a hand. It works just as well." Light growled, getting tired of the conversation.

"I just don't..."

Light whipped the business end of the voltmeter's probe up towards Titus and held it centimeters from the Aussie's nose.

"Eight years is how long it's been since my fiancée died." Dr. Light said lowly. "So I'd appreciate it if you just let me worry about this server. It's less painful that way."

"Y...Yeah. Sure." Titus stammered. Light pulled the voltmeter's probe back and kept searching the board. "Sorry, mate, I didn't know."

"It's all right." Light moved to soothe the tense moment. "Hell, Vanessa would probably tell me to stop moping and move on. Luckily, she's not around. So I brood a little." Light smirked. "It seemed the reasonable choice."

The door to the workshop opened up, and the two engineers turned to the newcomer; Doctor Wily, who held a flatscreen tablet in front of him as he walked in, talking away on a bluetooth headset.

"Look, all I'm saying is that the design's going to be a moot point until you can design a power source that _works_, Beskin!" Wily reiterated irritably. He slammed the door as he came in, and Thomas and Titus winced visibly. He tapped away at the screen, which at the oblique angle he held it, seemed to hold a blueprint design. "No, I'm not being difficult. Yes, I'm really working on it. _No_, Beskin, I don't have experience with military grade..."

Wily stopped midstride and looked to the ceiling, mouthing a dozen foul oaths with a vigorous gesture of rage. "All right. Fine. I'll send you what I have. Give me an hour to put it together."

He reached a hand up to his headset and pushed the call button to end it, then whirled on his two companions, face livid. "Can you believe the nerve of that man? Does he think it's easy designing a lightweight, inexpensive drone for high altitude flight that can still support the operations he needs?"

"I'm sure he's just frustrated." Light offered consolingly. "After all, he's got the weight of the world's survival on his shoulders."

"Well, if I remember correctly, we once had the weight of the world on our shoulders, and we didn't go sniping at other people." Titus remarked. "Of course, you two sniped at each other a lot of the time, if that counts. But what all does that drone need to support?"

"It needs to be able to fly at heights of 80 to 160,000 feet and act as a stable platform for an as of yet undesigned static discharge emitter, while keeping itself shielded and active for hours or days at a time."

Titus stared at Wily. "Well, that's one Hell of a laundry list there, ain't it?"

Dr. Wily pulled up a stool and leaned against the counter where Light was busily clipping away with the voltmeter and server memory wafer. "Enough about my side projects. What have you two been working on for the last few hours?"

"Well, we started with a sweep of the active servers, and then we brought this one down for maintenance." Titus explained matter-of-factly. "Right now, Tom's lookin' for the dead circuit in that board."

"Not looking." Light replied, pulling the voltmeter back after a negative reading. "Found. Where do you keep your soldering kit?"

Titus shook his head. "Crikey, you're fast. It should be in the drawer down by your knee there."

Light bent down to pull out the soldering kit, and Wily sighed. "I'd almost prefer your problem. The men in my family are prone to balding as the years drag on, and that demanding jerk Beskin's only exacerbating my condition."

"Oh, I don't know, Albert." Light teased him, setting the soldering iron on the counter and plugging it in. "I think that it makes you look rather distinguished."

"I know what you think about it, Tom." Dr. Wily rebuffed the compliment. He rolled his eyes and looked over to Titus. "I could use a stiff belt or two tonight after I mail this schematic out. Didn't you say you knew a watering hole or two?"

"Yeah, mate, I do." Titus said cautiously. "But they don't carry any beer; grain crops are too precious to waste on alcohol, so the best we've got is the hard liquor that survived the war. Gets a mite expensive at times."

"It's worth it." Wily groused. "I'm not saying I want to get bombed, but I could definitely use a lull. After you two get done, let's head out for dinner and a few drinks. I'll buy the booze if you two put your funds together for some decent burgers."

"Hamburgers, Albert?" Light remarked, lifting an eyebrow as he began to tinker with the faulty server component. "Now I know you need a break. That's one Hell of a splurge."

"The way I figure it, we're a couple thousand miles from Mr. Xanthos and his nigh endless supply of potent vintage wine." Wily snipped laconically. "Besides, I don't care if it _is_ the responsible meal to eat, I'm sick and goddamn tired of tofu."

* * *

_Dreamtime Fields_

_3:45 P.M._

The team of botanists crowded around Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue as he brought up the latest readouts on their test seedling.

"Cross your fingers, lads." Hyrmue breathed. "Let's hope this one takes."

Dr. Jane had been right about the British intruder; his skills in genetics were subpar, and his only real contribution had been the integration of his monitoring devices. Through a combination of microprobes and chemical analyzers, Hyrmue could track, in real time, the growth and development of any plant they wished. Right now, those devices were being used to test the latest batch of seedlings, all of which had received some kind of bolstering genetic formula. They'd then been exposed to unfiltered sunlight...the deadly levels of ultraviolet included.

There was a collective hush around him while Hyrmue checked the figures.

His face fell.

"Soil moisture and nutrient load's nomimal...But I'm reading a total failure in the seedling itself."

Groans filled the room, and the tight-lipped Dr. Jane shook her head. "All right, people. Looks like we have to take another shot at this." The team dispersed, but Flora Jane paused as she realized Hyrmue was staring at her. "Is something wrong, Dr. Hyrmue?"

Ezriah folded his arms. "It doesn't matter how many times you try to modify these thing's genetic codes, or how many soil bombs you lob off to help them along. We won't be able to do this."

Her face burned. "That kind of attitude won't save the world. Or are you ready to just curl up and die?"

Ezriah frowned. "All I'm saying is that you can't modify a life form as complex as a plant or a tree to resist ultraviolet radiation. Hell, there isn't a form of advanced life that _can_!"

"Not yet." Flora Jane swore. "But we'll make one."

"Look!" Ezriah exploded, throwing his arms out. "When the ozone layer dies, the only life forms that'll still be able to make it in open skies are cyanobacteria and cockroaches, and I'm not even that sure about the cockroaches! Earth's supposedly had an ozone layer since the end of the Precambrian Era. I'm telling you, we're going about this the wrong way!"

"Plants make oxygen. We need oxygen to fix the ozone layer. And we need food. Doctor, we only have one option left to us. And that's making this work."

"But it can't..."

Flora Jane cut him off with a shake of her head. "Look. I'm not going to stand here debating this with you. We've got too much to do to waste time. You're tired, you're frustrated, and you're no good to us here. Go spend some time in Sydney. Clear your head. Refocus." She set a hand on his shoulder warningly. "And when you come back...whenever that is...I expect solutions. Not problems."

His mind still in a daze, Hyrmue felt himself being taken out to the garage and being put into a vehicle. A mile out and back on the road to Sydney, he finally realized that since he could think of no feasible solution to keep any plant alive in the harsh rays of straight sunlight, he'd effectively been handed his hat and shown to the door.

Which is probably just what Dr. Jane had wanted all along.

_No Ezriah Pariah to worry about, eh? _He thought bitterly.

* * *

_Great Barrier Bar, Sydney_

_6:57 P.M._

"Bottoms up!"

The three friends tossed back their fourth round of whiskey sours, each making the predictable face immediately afterwards.

"Crikey, that doesn't waste any time at all, it just kicks ya right in the balls!" Titus Grant wheezed. He, Dr. Light and Dr. Wily sat in a back corner of the tavern. The burgers had been as delicious as expected, and they were now in their followup rounds of alcohol. A waitress came over with a tray of glasses, shaking her head.

"You poor blighters keep this up, you're going to have one Hell of a tab." She set a few glasses of water down on the table. "Compliments of the manager, so you'll be sober enough to pay your bill."

Wily hoisted his water glass in a toast. "Here's to you, lady, and to the giver of water's bounty, those freaks freezing their tuchuses off in New Shirewick!" The waitress rolled her eyes and ventured off to other tables.

Titus, who was already looking more sluggish than his friends, tugged on Light's sleeve. "New Shirewick? What's that, mate?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Dr. Light asked, a rosy red color lingering about his face from the whiskey. "Well, it's the water purification plant down in Antarctica. Most of the world's existing freshwater supplies are either irradiated or spoiled. Without Dr. Froid and his team working nonstop for the last six months, we'd be hard pressed to do much of anything. We always need water, after all."

Light stretched for a moment. "Speaking of water, I've got to go make some. Can I grab you boys anything while I'm up?"

"Yeah, let's have some of those stale pretzels I saw up at the counter earlier." Wily replied, grinning cheekily. Light threw him the bird and moved out past the bar in the main room towards the restrooms.

A few minutes later, properly drained and cleaned up, Light walked back out with a yawn and stared about the interior of the tavern.

The place was hopping tonight; Not even the threat of ultraviolet damage was enough to keep the rugged Aussies from their favorite watering holes, it seemed. Thomas Light began to turn for the back room where Albert and Titus were waiting, but paused as his eyes scanned the bar.

He spotted someone familiar, who was nursing what seemed to be a triple shot of something colored deep amber...Scotch, probably.

_Ezriah Hyrmue?_

Curiosity having gotten the better of him, Light sauntered over to the bar and cleared his throat. "Out celebrating, Ezriah?"

The British scientist jerked from his stupor and glanced up, relaxing when he saw who it was. "Oh...Dr. Light." He shook his head, as morose as ever. "No, quite the opposite, I'm afraid. There's nothing worth celebrating."

Dr. Light frowned, and for no reason in particular, sat down on the barstool beside Hyrmue. "What makes you say that? Are things not going well with Dr. Jane's team?"

"One dead end after another." Hyrmue scoffed, taking another snort of his drink. "She's as prickly as a saguaro cactus and just as stubborn besides. She's got the entire team working to try and come up with some miracle genetic formula that will make all our crops and trees and shrubs resistant to ultraviolet...pointless." He pushed a swizzle straw (Entirely out of place, given that it looked like he was drinking straight scotch) about in his glass, stirring it. "There's nothing short of the most basic bacteriums that are ultraviolet resistant, and those took an eon to work. No, we need something immediate, something now, and she's stuck on the idea that there's a single strain that can do the whole trick."

"I see...And you think she's wrong?"

"I'm not a geneticist, Dr. Light." Ezriah replied. "I only know about soil conditions, optimal nutrient levels...Tell me a plant, I can rattle off exactly what it needs to thrive."

Light absorbed the tidbit. "Well, that explains why your diagnostic tools were so effective...you were able to give it a baseline."

"It wasn't enough." Hyrmue mumbled ashamedly. "It's never enough. Not for my colleagues back home years ago, and it's not enough now."

The British scientist laughed sharply. "God almighty, why did they send me here? You would have thought Cristoph would read the post-it note in my dossier. "Doesn't play well with others," and that's the truth of it." Ezriah turned his slightly glazed eyes towards Light. "They called me 'Ezriah Pariah', can you believe that?"

Light's face softened, and strains of his own past...and Wily's...came to mind.

"I can sympathize." Light remarked softly.

Hyrmue lifted his glass and held it up at eye level. "They're wrong. The solution isn't going to be in genetics."

"So what would you propose, then?" Light asked. "That it's impossible, that we need to hide underground?"

"God, no." Hyrmue replied quietly. "I love the outdoors too much to sacrifice it. No, we can do this. We _have _to do this. But Flora Jane's wrong."

"So what's the answer?" Light pressed him. "How do we keep the world alive?"

Hyrmue stared into the few centimeters of scotch whiskey left in his glass. "I don't know. I don't know what the answer is. I just know what it isn't."

"That's not good enough, you know."

"Yeah." Hyrmue sniffed. "Yeah, I know. But for now, I'm through. She kicked me off the farm, and I'm too drunk to think straight." He raised his glass higher and laughed, his lucidity fading. "Here's to the world! May you die with all the dignity we don't have!" He put the glass to his lips and polished it off in one clean swallow.

Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue stood up from the bar and looked to Light through eyes gone glossy from liquor and shame. "I must be a miserable and pathetic sight. I apologize." He shook his head and tottered off towards the door. "I've been a disappointment to all my colleagues for years. It'd be bad form...to change now."

"Get a taxi!" Light called after him, worried. Hyrmue waved a hand over his shoulder and trudged on, mumbling sad and depressing thoughts. Light watched him go, and bit his lip.

The Second Rainbow seemed to have a tradition of picking up the misfits.

Maybe it was just that all the confident scientists were killed.

Dr. Light walked back towards his table and sat down, too lost in his own thoughts to notice the growing tower of playing cards that Wily and Titus Grant were building. He sat down, and didn't respond until Wily looked up with a bit of irritation.

"Tom? Hey, Tom!"

"Eh? Oh? Oh, sorry Will, what was it?"

Dr. Wily held out his hand. "The pretzels?"

Light winced. "I forgot about them. I just bumped into Hyrmue; he was pouring out his sorrows into a whiskey bottle."

"Well, that's encouraging. I suppose we're all doomed then." Wily replied, turning back to the stacked cards without a sign of sympathy.

"Will, the man was dismissed from his team, and they haven't put together a project yet that works!"

"I suppose there are some miracles that don't happen overnight."

Light bristled at Wily's offhandedness. "How can you be so damn calm? How can you still keep up with your living on borrowed time argument now, after everything?"

"Says the man who took up pipe smoking as a recreational hobby?" Wily retorted, lifting a bushy eyebrow. "Relax, Tom. We all have our low moments. Let Ezriah have his. And yes, I suppose I am rather glib about the whole situation, but that just comes with the territory. I do it, and I'm not going to stop on account of your bruised sensibilities. Especially now that you forgot my pretzels." Wily held out a card. "Now, let's get back to the important matter at hand; you've got to lay the next card without dropping the tower."

"And if I do?" Light asked, raising the card up towards the monument hesitantly.

"I get to punch ya in the block and tackle." Titus answered, grinning.

Light laughed. "Lord, that's funny..."

Titus looked to Wily, who was positively tickled with his mustache twitching back and forth. "Heh." Dr. Wily remarked with a grin. "He thinks you're joking."

Predictably, the card tower fell apart the moment Light applied too much pressure. His face white, Light looked between the two gentlemen. "You...weren't joking?"

Titus leaned his arm under the table, grinning like he'd just stolen the Christmas goose. "Nope."

* * *

_Dr. Hyrmue's Apartment_

_Sydney, Australia_

_December 29th, 2048 C.E._

_2:25 A.M._

Every so often, it seemed, the universe allowed that rare conglomeration of happenings that served to convince people that destiny, or some source of omniscience was alive and influencing events. Low moments were prime for such miraculous occurrences, and if anyone was due for one late that night, it was Ezriah Hyrmue.

He didn't quite know why it was he woke up; sure, there was that irritating crick in his neck, and yes, his bladder had been sending him signals that_ PISSING IS NEEDED_ even before he'd opened his eyes...

None of that quite captured the real reason. There was a restlessness that pervaded his bed and body, irritating him just enough that regardless of the rather nice dream he'd been having about that recently divorced Swedish masseuse, he was forced to get up and move about.

Squinting in the darkness of his bathroom, and trying desperately to hit the toilet bowl instead of the sides with his late night leavings, Ezriah's mind turned to the issue that had been at the forefront of his work and his presence in the land where toilets flushed in the opposite direction.

A week and a half. Flora Jane's team had been experimenting with UV-resistant plant life for longer than that, but that span of nearly a fortnight had been more than enough to put Ezriah in dismal spirits. Not even blessed Christmas had raised him from his funk...Of course, without snow and with the sun powerful enough to kill a man for daring to exist outside, that wasn't surprising.

They were still stuck on the same problem. In the flash of a heartbeat, and still groggy, Ezriah glossed over the details.

_Ozone layer at half strength. Need oxygen. Plants make it. Plants dying from UV. Vicious circle. Plants die from UV, can't make oxygen to make ozone to stop UV._

_ Genetic treatments will take too long._

_ Need something else. Something quick, something to be shipped around on a large scale. Something versatile._

_ Something that can go everywhere._

The element of an idea's source is forever a mysterious question. One theory reliant on quantum mechanics lists that every idea is the result of some strange subatomic particle passing through the brain from a source at some point in time or space where the idea is already reality. Another thought goes that brilliant ideas stem from a higher authority, doling out wisdom as required.

In Ezriah's case, one might argue, just as they would with destiny, that it was just a matter of certain things happening at a certain time. He would likely not have had the thought if he hadn't been on the plane ride with Dr. Light and Dr. Wily. Having been so distracted with work and that frustrating Flora Jane, he would likely have even lost that memory completely if Light hadn't approached him at the bar last night. No, there was definitely an element of fortuitous happenings about, and it guided him still.

The thought washed over him as quick as the blink of an eye, for a thought takes very little time at all, even though it may drain significant energy to produce. He sucked in a sharp breath as his bladder finished emptying, and all at once, the sluggishness and the sleep vanished for a sober state of alertness.

As he walked back to his bedroom, the thought grew, as all good ideas must. Like an oyster's pearl, Ezriah tumbled it about inside his mind, coating the nugget until it was round and perfect.

At least, as perfect as he could make it.

"Can't lose this." He uttered, throwing on whatever odd articles of clothing that were laying about. "Gotta write this..."

But no. Writing it down wouldn't do him any good. The idea was so solidly lodged in his brain that all else was excluded. Even now, it was being embedded in his memory, so he could come back to it. It was a good idea that wanted to live, and so fought hard to stay alive.

He paused in his kitchen, just long enough to procure a precious item he knew would come in handy at this time of day, and an old duffel bag to hide it in. Ezriah Hyrmue, temporarily exiled from Dreamtime Fields and frustrated at the state of the world, ran towards the door with his cell phone in hand, already dialing.

"Hello? Yes, I need a cab...Yes, you can trace the call. I'll see you in a bit."

Ezriah Hyrmue had an idea. Maybe it was a crazy idea. Maybe it was impossible. Regardless, it was the first good idea he'd had in years, and he was damned if he was going to let it die this morning.

The first thing he had to do...

Find the only two people he knew in his region of the world that could tell him if he'd hit upon the million pound jackpot, or if he'd thought of a dud project that wasn't feasible.

The rest, Ezriah thought, was details.

* * *

_3:02 A.M._

A pounding noise at their door jerked both Thomas and Albert from a dead sleep, with neither particularly pleased. They glanced towards each other from their beds at opposite ends of the room.

"You get it." Thomas Light croaked.

"Fudge you. It's your turn." Albert replied with a mumble.

"Farkle you for it."

"...Fiiine. On the count of three, call it out. One, two, three...PAPER!"

"Rock!" Light bleated, realizing he'd lost. "Shit."

"Get going, and feel free to mutilate them." Wily yawned, collapsing back against his pillow.

Light sighed and forced himself out of bed, grabbing his white lab coat on his way out of the bedroom. He tossed it over his shoulders, thinking it wouldn't do to stand in the doorway in his rumpled T-Shirt and shorts. "Should have thrown scissors." He muttered, walking out to the apartment's living room. The door was still being pounded on. "I'm coming! For God's sake..."

He opened the door, and blinked as the man outside came into focus. "...Dr. Hyrmue?"

The British wild card was flushed; He'd been running. "Tom, I had an idea."

Irritation replaced surprise. "Ezriah, it's three in the effing morning. Couldn't you wait?"

"No time." Ezriah answered, pushing past Light with a duffel bag under one arm. "The best ideas always happen at three in the morning, and I need to work with it before I lose it. Is Dr. Wily up?"

Light stared, then closed his door. "He's sleeping. Just like I _was_."

"Go wake him up." Hyrmue said, pulling out a sealed tin from his duffel bag. He popped it open, and the can hissed as the seal broke. "We'll need him too."

Dr. Light glowered at Hyrmue. "You can't just show up at three in the morning, wake us up, and demand..."

His voice cut out as a new, familiar, and intoxicating aroma filled his nostrils. Light stared at the aluminum can in Hyrmue's hand. "Is...Is that..."

"Coffee. Premium Dark Roast. Colombian." Hyrmue finished, smiling. "I thought you gents might need a peace offering."

Light inhaled the pungent smell of the caffeinated beans again, all his irritation forgotten. "Do you realize how much that sells for on the black market?"

"About forty to fifty Euros." Hyrmue said, a twinkle in his eye. "I got it for thirty-eight." He glanced about. "Do you keep a coffeemaker in here?"

"Yeah, there's one in the kitchen; came with the place. I think this'll be the first time it gets used for its intended purpose." Light stretched out his body and yawned. "As long as you're here...just why in the Hell are you bothering us? Is this idea of yours something you can't bring up with Dr. Jane and her team?"

The British scientist paused in the doorway to the kitchen, then turned his head partway about so Light could see his smile. "I should say not, old chum." Hyrmue chuckled. "She's not very partial to mechanical things herself." He left his idea at that, and Light soon heard the sound of running tap water.

"Sleep? No, we don't need sleep." Light uttered quietly, heading for the bedroom. He walked in slowly, and stood over the foot of Wily's bed. "Hey, Will."

"Hmm?"

"Will, get up."

"Nmm-hn."

Light chuckled. He never tired of the next part. He reached a hand down and lightly brushed the top of Wily's foot. Predictably, the man jerked and snorted awake. Light couldn't restrain the chuckle. "Hey, time to get up."

Wily stared at him, then faced his alarm clock. "It's...three in the morning. Why do we need to get up?"

Light walked over to where Wily had left his clothes laid out for the next day and tossed him his lab coat. "Ezriah Hyrmue's here. He says he needs our help with an idea of his."

Wily groaned. "God almighty, does nobody in this blasted country _sleep?_" He threw his pillow at Light halfheartedly, and the rounded polyglot dodged it without much trouble. "And you agreed?"

A smell was beginning to permeate the apartment, and Light smiled. "Well, he brought us something. Can you smell that?"

Wily took a test sniff.

His eyes finally opened.

"Is that...coffee?" He asked unsteadily. Light smiled. "Real, honest to god undistorted, non-artificial coffee?"

"I don't know about you, but the smell of that stuff puts even the usual Second Rainbow sludge to shame. Of course, I don't think Ezriah went through the normal government channels to get it. So what do you say, Al? Are we going to get up and listen to what the man has to say?"

Wily lingered, for even though the coffee smelled amazing, sleep was always a good idea. He finally sighed and swung his legs out over the bed and reached for his lab coat.

"I'm getting too old for this shit."

Light smiled all the more and headed for the door. "Three sugars, no cream?"

"Make it four. The both of you owe me." Wily corrected him, putting on his shoes.

* * *

Some minutes later, and with the first two awakening draughts drained from their old-fashioned ceramic mugs, Dr. Light and Dr. Wily looked to Ezriah Hyrmue. The British scientist watched them, and motioned to the back counter and the still warming coffee pot. "Do you two need topping off?"

"Maybe later." Wily shrugged off the offer and drove to the matter at hand. "First, perhaps you'd like to tell us why you're so dead set on bothering the two of us in the dead of night for some idea."

"Because, I think you two chaps are the only souls on this side of the Pacific who have the skills needed to make this idea work, much less listen to it."

Light hid his grin at the open compliment by taking another sip of coffee and hiding behind the mug. "Go on, then." He said, when he composed himself. "What's this grand idea of yours? Have you found a solution to the ozone crisis?"

"I told you before that ultraviolet would kill any organism, genetically modified or not, long before they flourished enough to put out the oxygen Beskin needs to fix the ozone layer, right?"

"True." Light clipped, holding back the comment that this was something he'd already gone over back at that seedy tavern.

Hyrmue's eyes glinted with the fire of Prometheus, and he leaned over the table towards them. "I said it wrong. Ultraviolet would kill off any purely _organic life._"

Light and Wily had only the span of an eyeblink before Hyrmue's implications took off, and they glanced to each other. A moment later, the two turned back to the still triumphant Hyrmue.

"What are you suggesting, exactly?" Wily asked him. "That we build you a robot to produce oxygen?"

"No, heavens no." Dr. Hyrmue went on giddily. "I think it might be possible to make something entirely new...a technological organism modeled after a tree, able to perform the same functions."

Light and Wily both seemed dubious, in spite of the coffee steadily filling their bellies and warming them to full wakefulness.

"I'm not crazy. God, for everything else that I am, not in my wildest fancies would I think up something beyond the limits of our potential."

"Our?" Wily asked, only slightly irritated at the wording.

"This could work." Hyrmue went on, desperately trying to win them over. "There isn't a form of life, us included, that could survive the complete eradication of the ozone layer. But put a technological organism out there, in the full rays of the sun, and it won't bat a branch. I spent years studying plants, all kinds of trees. I can tell you the nutrients they need, the moisture they need, all the factors. And that's all they are, factors. If you can give a machine factors, it can run whatever program you ask it to. Photosynthesis? It's just a gods-damned chemical reaction! You'll argue that it will take too much power? Trees have been using solar energy for millions of years. This can do the same. Every conceivable reaction, every part of the formula is something I know, that I can deal with. What I can't do is build the damn thing...not alone. You two are said to be two of the most crackerjack Yankees that ever crossed the paths of the Second Rainbow. Help me. Help me do this, and this world might still have a chance."

A change had worked over the two from Hyrmue's impassioned plea. Wily sat with his eyes darting quickly in all directions, thinking so quickly that he seemed more processor than person. Light pulled on his beard, staring at Hyrmue like a child being told for the first time that Santa Claus is real.

"Is it possible?" He asked aloud. "Has the field of robotics really advanced that far?"

"Before the Green Living movement and the sad side effect of the Luddite Protests in the mid 2010's, humanity was on the fast track to such miracles." Wily murmured, rattling off a history of robotic engineering that neither knew especially well. "Hell, close to the end, they'd almost succeeded in making microcellular repair nanites for the human circulatory system. Yes, I'd say that even despite the fallbacks, this is something that is very possible." Wily's eyes darted between the two. "But it's not going to be easy. This isn't like slapping together the Kewbees."

"Wait, that was slapped together?" Light interrupted, wide-eyed.

"Ancient history, Tom. Let it go." Wily went on, leaving his companion to shake his head disbelievingly. "We're talking about making something that's never been made before, doing something that's never been _done_ before. And I have to make sure we're all in this. Me, this sounds like a challenge worth trying. I was getting bored out of my skull down here anyways, what with you and Titus spending all your damn time fixing servers and fucking surfers."

"Hey!" Light protested, and Albert laughed, a hyenalike reverberating chuckle that made the other two tense up before relaxing and writing it off as mere whimsy.

"Lord." Wily muttered, wiping a bit of something from his eye. "All right, Ezriah. I know you're in; it's your idea, after all, and you want to see it through." He turned and looked to Light. "But what about you, Tom? Are you in or out?"

His feelings still hurt, Light crossed his arms. "I don't see what this has to do with me. You're the roboticist."

"I need you, Tom." Wily said evenly, and all peculiar mirth was gone from his eyes.

Thomas X. Light stared back at Albert William Wily, feeling the summons as clearly as he'd heard it.

_A package deal, you and me. Where one goes, the other follows. What one does...the other helps with. _

Thomas shut his eyelids for a bit and rubbed at them. He finally sighed, and nodded. "All right, you've got me. For all the good it'll do."

"For all the good it'll do?" Hyrmue guffawed, reaching over and patting Light's elbow in joyful thanks. "Hell's bells, you're supposed to be one of the best programmers north of the Tropic of Cancer! You'll do plenty good!"

"Then the project has begun!" Wily announced dramatically. "Dr. Hyrmue, for our first step, you need to do something for me."

"What's that, Dr. Wily?"

"Call me Albert." Dr. Wily corrected him, smiling again. He held up his coffee cup. "Give me a refill. Since I'm not going back to bed, I'm going to need all the liquid inspiration I can get."

Light smiled in spite of the small joke, and noted something about his friend. "You seem rather cheerful, given how grouchy you were minutes before. You're looking forward to this, aren't you?"

Wily smirked as Hyrmue tottered off to fill his cup. "My entire life has been spent in the pursuit of advancing robotic technologies. Something like this...it's a challenge that must be answered, and so it shall." He thought for a moment longer, then cleared his throat. "That reminds me, Dr. Hyrmue. Something like this...We just can't call it a cybernetic organism, and it doesn't fit my definition of a mechanoid. This is going to need a name."

Hyrmue came back over and set the refilled coffee cup down in front of Wily, a distant look on his face. A moment later, he came to with a quaint and curious smile. "I think I've got just the one." He said, with all the solemnity the occasion merited. "Why don't we call this thing...a Treeborg?"

Wily would later grumble the term was crude and pandered to the limited intelligences of the masses. For the moment, he merely smiled, and nodded as Light gushed praise for the apropos term.

Hyrmue could have done worse, after all.

* * *

_Canberra Central Communications_

_January 3rd, 2049 C.E._

_10:14 A.M._

"I have to commend you-using photovoltaic 'leaves' is flat out ingenious." Wily remarked, staring at the electronic blueprint that he and Hyrmue had spent the better portion of New Year's Day working on. "A single leaf doesn't provide much surface area, but..."

"The larger the Treeborg gets, the more leaves it makes, and the more power it creates to adapt to its needs. These things need to be self-sufficient if they're to have any impact." Hyrmue answered. He smiled and pointed to the root system. "No, the more amazing thing is the growth protocol. I was half-expecting we'd be forced to make these things from scratch."

"Well, it's about as close to molecular nanotechnology as we can come for the moment, but like I said, it's possible." Wily went on, gesturing for the man's benefit. "If you break down organic life, or even the diamonds in the prototype quantum processors they had before the war, it's all just carbon. We're made of it, trees are made of it, and nanomachines used it. How do plants grow? They accumulate mass through nutrients to fuel their processes."

"But how do you stop it from going out of control? What happens if it decides to keep growing?"

"Been thinking about that old cult sci-fi show _Stargate_ again, haven't you?" Wily mused, smiling. "Relax. Trees know by their genetic coding when to stop growing; so will ours. That's why you brought both me and Light in. I can build the damn thing, and he can program it."

Light looked over from his monitor and blew a raspberry at the two of them. "And you two think it's going to be easy to tell a tree how to eat, breathe, and grow?"

"A Hell of a lot easier than putting together the damn thing!" Wily barked back.

Hyrmue looked crestfallen for a minute. "Is it...really that difficult?"

"Relax, Ezriah." Light cheered the man up. "Wily's complaining because he's having fun with it. It's when he isn't bitching that you need to worry." He glanced around and chuckled. "Damned nice of Titus to shack us up in here, wasn't it?"

"He stuffed us in a room that was being used as a supply closet." Wily snorted, failing to hide his appreciative smile. "So much for hospitality."

Hyrmue pulled his finger about the blueprint and brought up a zoomed in view of the Treeborg prototype's root system. "If I wanted the best facilities available, I'd hightail it back to Alaska and shack up there. No, I don't need a grand laboratory. A little hole in the wall suits me just as well for what we're doing. After all, if we do ever get this project in the ground, we're going to need the conditions we've got here in Australia to prove that my hypothesis is right."

"What hypothesis was that? That Dr. Jane was wrong?" Dr. Light asked, looking back to the programming code he was on.

Hyrmue smiled and typed in updated specifications for the root absorption protocols. "No. That if this Treeborg can thrive in barren, ultraviolet blasted Australia, it can survive anywhere."

* * *

_January 21st, 2049 C.E._

Titus poked his head through the door. "Oi, are you lads busy?"

Dr. Light stopped his typing and looked over to Titus. "We're always busy, it seems. You've lucked out, though; Hyrmue just got back from picking up some parts that got delivered to the airport. What's wrong, Titus?"

"Nothing's wrong that I can't handle by m'self, now that you've gone and showed me that trick of yours." Titus beamed proudly. "No, I came by because a package came in for you two gents."

Wily glanced up from the old-fashioned paper blueprints he'd been working on. "A package? From who?"

"No clue, really. The return address is from the Second Rainbow proper, up in Alaska." Titus motioned outside the door. "Can I bring it in?"

Light smiled. "A package from Vinkus' bunch? Absolutely. Haul it in here."

Titus winced. "Drag, is more like it. Hold on, I'll only be a tick."

Wily and Light looked to each other as Titus grunted outside the door, and re-emerged, dragging a wheeled trolley cart on a rope behind him. A heavy wooden crate rode the wobbly transport, but seemed well packaged and undamaged. "Whatever it is, it's fahkin' heavy!" Grant oofed, finally dropping the rope and stepping away from it with one hand pressed against his back. "Geh, I'm gonna feel that one in the morning, bet ye all the koalas I will."

"We still have koalas?" Wily mused, walking over to the crate and inspecting it with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Not for much longer, if we can't get this thing ready." Hyrmue replied. "Do you need a crowbar for that?"

Wily pulled his hand back, seeing no use in exerting himself. "Yeah, that might come in handy. Hey Tom, were we expecting a package from the SRHQ?"

"Well, you did order those carbon filaments and microtubules...Maybe it's them?" Light asked.

Wily let out a sharp barking laugh as Hyrmue handed him the crowbar. Grunting, he jammed the levering end under one section of board and started to pry it off. "It'd be one massive waste of packaging. Everything I ordered wouldn't fill up a shoebox; they're fractionally small elements for the Treeborg design."

About a minute later, Wily had finally pulled off the wooden boards that braced the lid down, and he threw it back on its hinges, wiping his brow for effect. "Well, let's just take a look inside here and see what we've got."

Dr. Light walked over and peered inside, quickly locating a sheet of paper atop the packing peanut filled container. "Hey, here's a note."

"Probably a bill." Wily harrumphed. "Smartasses imitating UPS."

Light scanned it, then smiled and shook his head. "Oh, I don't believe this." He said, laughing.

"What, what is it?" Hyrmue asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, what did those blighters up in the frozen north send you anyhow?" Titus echoed.

Light held out the letter to the two men, and they quickly read over it.

**To our resident hacks-**

** As long as you're going to be staying down in Australia doing God knows what (And no, I don't _want_ you telling me what exactly), Xanthos decided you probably needed a little piece of home down there with you. I don't know why he thought you two needed this...Getting it through customs, even with SRHQ clearance, won't be easy. But, Xanthos spent more time with the two of you than I could, especially now, so I won't belittle his opinions or his eccentricities. Try and get back soon; he just put in a Karaoke machine in the lounge, and rumor has it that Dr. Light knows a thing or two about Frank Sinatra show tunes!**

** Somehow, I had a feeling that you two wouldn't go long without bumping into Hyrmue. I won't begrudge Flora Jane the right to run her team as she sees fit, but I was a little distressed to hear how quickly she gave him the boot. Let's hope for your sake that you can work better with the man than everybody else in the last ten years has been able to. **

** Do what you can. Beskin's nearly tearing his hair out up here fretting over the ozone crisis. I imagine that something similar's happening with Wily, and he's bald enough already. Good luck, and God bless.**

** -Darwin Vinkus, Second Rainbow HQ Site Coordinator/U.N. Liason**

"Hey Al, Vinkus just called you bald!" Titus laughed.

"The self-righteous prick." Wily muttered under his breath. "So what did he send?"

"Actually, Will, it was Oliver Xanthos that sent this little number." Light smiled.

"What little number?"

Light reached inside and rooted around in the foam packaging until he let out a triumphant aha and pulled his hand out, bringing a control box with it.

Titus and Dr. Hyrmue stared blankly at it, while Wily's face became one of sudden dread and panic.

"Oh, don't tell me that that's..."

Light pressed a few buttons and called out with a laugh. "All right, Kay, time to wake up!"

Before the stunned eyes of the men in the room, a chrome blue Kewbee mechanoid rose out of the sea of foam peanuts and shook off the vestiges of its journey. It swiveled its head about from left to right, scanning the room with bright blue electronic eyes.

"_Christ almighty!"_ Hyrmue gasped, backpedaling. "That's a GAIDN!"

Even Titus was goggle eyed. "Crikey..."

Wily waved them off, even as he was rolling his eyes. "Relax. This one's harmless. Light reprogrammed it..."

"Him, Albert..."

"_IT_..." Wily reiterated sharply, earning a sigh from Light to his stubbornness, "And removed all the hostile subroutines. This mechanoid couldn't hold a gun if it wanted to."

"Kay's been with me for years." Dr. Light beamed, as the robot stepped out of the box cautiously on two legs and glanced around the interior. "He's simple-minded and has a hard time understanding voice requests some days, but you couldn't ask for a better packrat."

"Why you insist on personalizing it still astounds me." Wily snorted disdainfully.

"Why did you anthropomorphize its design?" Light rebutted, raising an eyebrow as "Kay" began to wander about the room, sizing up its new environs. "You called the Kewbees mechanoids, because of their similarities to _humanoids_."

The shock worn off thanks to the indifference from the two senior scientists in the room, Titus folded his arms. "Oi, if you two want to fight over quibblin' details, I might as well shove off. I've got better things to do than listen to more of your pointless dick measuring...considering you're both still smaller than me."

"Says you." Wily stuck out his tongue before turning back to Light. "All the same, Tom, what good is one personalized Kewbee in this project? It can't help with the delicate work, and that's all this is going to be!"

Hyrmue, however, rubbed at his chin and saw an alternative. "Now, that's not quite true." He mused aloud. "Assuming we do ever get this Treeborg into a workable condition, we're going to need someone to plant it outside and tend to it in the heat of the day, and it'll be a lot bloody easier for a robot to do it than one of us, all trussed up in protective gear."

Wily threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. FINE. You all win, the damned robot stays. Jesus, I need a drink."

As Wily was moving to leave, Light couldn't help but put in the last word. "Don't you mean mechanoid, Albert?"

The scientist tensed up, let out an angry snort and stomped off.

Titus smiled and patted Light on the shoulder as he moved to leave as well. "Never a dull moment with you two women, is there?"

"Off with you." Dr. Light chuckled.

Titus turned about at the door and nodded to Hyrmue. "Good luck, chum. You're going to need it." He disappeared, leaving a confused Hyrmue to voice the next question as he eyed Kay the Kewbee, who was now standing beside him and scanning his body.

"What exactly did he mean by that?"

"Nothing bad...I think." Light offered with a shrug. "But Wily and I have a habit of being workaholics when the mood suits us. So if you were expecting to take it easy..."

"I didn't start this project to rest." Hyrmue said quickly, firming his resolve.

"That's good." Light replied, watching Kay with eyes as blue as the mechanoid's. "Because from now until we hopefully succeed...there won't be any."

* * *

_February 2nd, 2049 C.E._

"Steady...steady now..." Wily urged, barely breathing.

Poised over the microsurgery device and the magnifying window that guided it over the surface of the spiderlike mess of artificial tree roots, Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue gently nudged the microtubule into alignment. It all hinged on this; triumph would mean the root system was established. Failure would mean that the expensive pre-war supply of nanotech supplies would be wasted.

Over in the corner of the room, watching with the same silent aspect that the other two shared, Dr. Light kept his hands above the keyboard, not typing a single letter. That eventually made Wily turn his head and grin. "Tom, he's not defusing a nuclear bomb. Keep typing, it's relaxing me."

"Have to say..." Hyrmue said worriedly, "I've gotten used to the noise of that keyboard."

Light relaxed and started working again. "My apologies. I didn't know you two were treating it as white noise."

"How is the Treeborg program coming along?"

"I'd say about...sixty, sixty-five percent." Light kept his eyes glued to the screen. "Detailing the photosynthetic process was easy enough, but...Programming this thing to grow?"

"Steady on, Tom. You'll get it." Hyrmue cheered him up, gritting his teeth as he set the microtubule into place. He pulled his tool away from the root system and exhaled a sigh of relief. "There. Dr. Wily, how are the numbers looking?"

"Let's see how our little carbon filaments are holding up." Wily tapped a few keys on his tablet, and turned the display around for Hyrmue to see. It displayed a detailed schematic of the root system of the Treeborg. "If you laid it right, the sensory commands will be able to pass through the new channel you've just made and get to work with the mineral exchange."

"Which it uses for..." Light said askingly.

"Cellular maintenance." Hyrmue finished. "Their secondary function's more vital."

Something clicked into Light's mind. "Root hair construction."

Hyrmue grinned and nodded his head. "Precisely so. I'm not surprised you're having trouble, Dr. Light. A tree can be a very complex machine."

"But this is still just a machine." Light reiterated. "And I'll crack it, just give me time. But did your procedure work?"

"We should know any second now." Wily answered, crossing his fingers in the old-fashioned symbol for good luck. "Let's just hope that the fuel cell we've got this hooked up to doesn't short it out with over amperage...and that your first bit of the program code works like it's supposed to."

The three waited as the prototype's root system feebly powered up, and then it reported a signal back to Wily's connected tablet.

Dr. Wily grinned, then laughed. "Unbelievable! We're getting an error message!"

Light's face sank. "Oh no."

Hyrmue was also smiling. "No, no, Thomas, that's a good thing! The error message is reporting a complete lack of soil and ground nutrients, which is what we'd expect it to say! It's not in the ground yet! By George, I think we've done it!"

The three shared in a celebratory whoop, and (Numbered precisely, by Wily's calculations) a two second handshake. Wily looked over to Hyrmue, his dark eyes glittering. "All right, what's next?"

"Now?" Hyrmue thought aloud. "Now we build the rest of it."

* * *

_April 13th, 2049 C.E._

"These numbers are better than I expected." Hyrmue exclaimed, handing over the printout to Wily. "Look at what our synthetic leaves are getting in kilowatts!"

Wily gave the sheet a cursory examination and threw the man a cocky smile. "I told you that photovoltaics had taken leaps and bounds. But you're right; that kind of an energy output means that the Treeborg can maintain a faster growth rate than we anticipated."

"At the least; just think of what this could do to the photosynthesis reaction!" Hyrmue beamed. "By God, this is going to work!"

Wily, as usual, was the one willing to rain on the parade. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Just because we figured out the root system and the power system doesn't mean the whole thing's going to take. We still have yet to put this son of a bitch in the _ground_ yet."

The unspoken statement between them was _And that depends on whether or not Light finished the final program build._

Hyrmue looked off to the side. "I haven't heard from Thomas in a while...d'you suppose we should check on him?"

"Afraid he's collapsed on his keyboard?" Wily teased the man, as they left the Treeborg plant on the workbench and headed to the far side of the room that they had been using for their project.

"No, but he's worked himself to exhaustion before already. If he's done it again..."

"Relax, Ezriah." Albert Wily eased the man's fears. "You've got no reason to feel guilty. Light naturally has no common sense about when he needs to stop."

Behind a shelf, slumped on another small counter with his laptop beside his arms and the head they supported, Dr. Light softly snored away.

"He's...he's out cold!" Hyrmue exclaimed.

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic." Wily chastised him, reaching down and lifting up the laptop. "He's just taking a catnap, he's not dead...that I should be so fortunate." He muttered under his breath at the end. Hyrmue stared blankly, and Wily sighed. "Boy, I guess you'd have to be Thomas to get that joke. All right." Wily turned the laptop screen around and smiled. "Looks like Christmas came early this year."

Hyrmue stared at the screen, which flickered a message, indicating that the compiler had finished its scan.

(**Treeborg) file completed**

** 0 Errors Detected**

** 0 Anomalies Detected**

** Save Y/N?**

"I'll be damned." Hyrmue breathed. "He actually pulled it off."

"With your help, mind you." Wily added, guiding them away from the snoozing scientist. "The both of you spent major hours working on the code; all he did was put it all together and add to it. I understand you're a fair programmer yourself."

"Well, not as good as Light, but I had to be. My monitoring equipment was all in-house years ago."

Upon reaching the Treeborg, Dr. Wily turned the small trunk about until the access I/O port spun into view. "All right, it's time to turn this expensive lego model into a living organism." He plugged Light's laptop into the prototype and looked at it again after setting the OS to upload. "This thing's barely a foot and a half high right now...what did you say you programmed the maximum height to?"

"Twenty meters in amenable conditions. But if we're planting this one out in the Australian tundra, I don't think we'll see more than five or seven." Hyrmue gave it some thought. "You know those supplement packs that I came up with? We could try putting one of those on this prototype, see what happens."

"Those derivative mineral boosters were meant as an emergency fallback; no sense providing it at the start." Wily reminded him. "We have to make sure that this thing will grow in a place relatively stable before we put it on life support."

Hyrmue sighed in agreement. "If only we could come up with some way to prolong the supplement packs...We're probably going to need to, if we're going to locate these Treeborgs around the entire world."

"Well, I suppose you could talk to Flora Jane about that." Wily offered as afterthought, watching the program transfer bar creep along. "As I recall, her project for the Contest in 2039 sort of covered the same notion. Of course, that might mean sharing the credit..."

Hyrmue chuckled. "At this point, only the earth concerns me."

"Spoken like a true bleeding heart." Wily nodded as the laptop flashed its completion message and disconnected the cable from the Treeborg's I/O port. "All right, the upload's done. Should we initialize it?"

"No, we should probably wait to initialize it until we get it set out and in the ground. We could do it tonight..."

"No." Light's tired voice stopped the two men, and they glanced about to see their bleary eyed companion walking towards them, rubbing his forehead. "No, don't power it up at night. It's going to have nil for reserve power; we need it to have full solar reception."

"But Tom, we can't go outside in the day! The ultraviolet exposure's only gotten worse, and our bulky protection suits will make it impossible for us to plant the thing!"

Light smiled as he yawned, and then shook his head. "I never said we had to plant it. Wait until tomorrow morning, and I'll take care of it for you." He glanced at the laptop. "There it is. I figured you wandered off with it...was it done?"

"The program build?" Hyrmue asked, waiting until Light nodded. "No problems at all. The program was pristine. You did fantastic work."

"_We_ did fantastic work." Light stretched out and scratched his arm, letting out a prodigious amount of flatulence that caused him, and the other two to wince. "Oof. I guess Tofu doesn't agree with me either, Albert."

"I think you're just getting old." Dr. Wily smirked, standing up and heading for the door. "I'm going to go see about rustling up a pot of coffee. I think we're down to used grounds...that won't bother you two, will it?"

"I wouldn't mind a weak cup." Dr. Light said, gently stroking the metallic green leaves of the prototype Treeborg plant. "After all, we're all going to have to get to bed early for the big planting."

* * *

_April 14th, 2039 C.E._

_8:28 A.M._

As silently as its servos allowed, the chrome blue Kewbee that Dr. Light affectionately called Kay patted the earth around the Treeborg prototype's rootball with the gardening trowel, making sure that it was firmly set into the ground. It moved with slow and precise efficiency, with eyes that glowed purple (A change set in by Light, who had lost all taste for the 'red eyes' that had become synonymous with guided destruction).

A hundred yards away, under the safety of a protective canopy, Wily, Hyrmue, and Light watched the Kewbee finish its work, under the direction of Light's control box. The scientist once described as Grizzly Adams had his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he guided the mechanoid, but that didn't stop his two partners from making small talk.

"Have to say, we picked a lovely day for this." Hyrmue smiled, sighing under the shade. "The sun's full out, there's not a cloud in the sky. The Treeborg's reserve capacitors should have no trouble filling up."

"That was genius, figuring out how to convert it into chemical energy." Wily observed.

"What, glucose?" Hyrmue grunted. "Damn simple, really. Just the natural conclusion of the photosynthetic process, and it'd be wasted otherwise. No, the real genius is how you were able to create power converters that could use it."

"You said, build a tree." Wily replied, folding his arms with a small grin. "Trees don't have power cords to rechargeable battery packs."

"Could you two keep it down?" Light asked, looking back over his shoulder. "I'm almost done here. This is a momentous occasion, and you two are quibbling with the details."

Wily glanced around himself, finally harrumphing with a smile. "If it's so momentous, where's the television cameras, or the preening crowds?"

Hyrmue laughed. "We bloody well deserve them. D'you suppose I should make some sort of speech here?"

"I don't know what would be fitting." Wily mused. "_We fucked up the world, so here's our small contribution to put it back on its feet?"_

"No, no." Hyrmue snorted. "No, that's terribly unsavory. Look out there! We have a GAIDN..."

"Kewbee." Light corrected him calmly.

"...Kewbee, right, sorry, and instead of being guided to take human lives and cause destruction, it's performing what is one of the simplest acts of responsible stewardship and creation. It's planting a bleeding tree. I tell you, if we were going to have a speech, we'd need something along the lines of beating swords into plowshares."

"Oh, biblical references?" Wily hooted. "No, I think we were pressing our luck naming the Second Rainbow over the old Antediluvian stories. Of course, we could always try another religion. Hinduis...wait, no, that won't work. The last time somebody used that one for a scientific achievement, they invented the nuclear bomb."

"How about, gentlemen, we take it for what it is." Light proposed, making the Kewbee jack into the tree's I/O port just long enough to send the startup command. "Three men from a world before global catastrophe working together to make one man's crazy idea reality?"

The other two stared at him, before Wily shook his head. "Lord, that's terrible."

"It's much too long." Hyrmue added with a grin.

"Well, fudge you too." Light guffawed, walking Kay back towards them. The blue chrome Kewbee came to rest just underneath the canopy and reverted to all four legs, and the color of its eyes went back to blue as Light deactivated the manual controls. "All right. We have the Treeborg planted and powered up. I'll send Kay out to water it in about fifteen minutes. Is there anything else we're missing?"

Hyrmue stroked at his chin. "We'll run daily checkups on it to start a database, but we should probably start to prepare a few more. And I've had some ideas as to how to increase oxygen production, but it means altering the photovoltaics."

Wily turned his head sideways. "Oh? How so?"

Hyrmue smiled, and stared towards the lone mechanical plant. "I was thinking we might try for palm trees."

* * *

_June 1st, 2049 C.E._

_1:14 P.M._

The vehicles from Flora Jane's department rolled up to the telecommunications center, and one by one filed under the stone canopy above the circular driveway. The design had been used to protect disembarking visitors from the rain, but it did an equal job of stopping the now lethal ultraviolet rays.

Dr. Hyrmue waited under the canopy, just short of the doors. He smiled and waved to Dr. Jane as the middle-aged woman stepped out of the car and fixed her hair. "Good afternoon, Dr. Jane! I trust the drive was without problems?"

"It went well enough." She replied coolly, looking at the building with a puzzled glance. "Your message said you'd had a breakthrough to the UV crisis...what are we doing here at a phone depot?"

"Some new friends of mine were kind enough to provide me a workspace." Hyrmue motioned with his head towards the doors. "Come on. It's out back."

Dr. Jane glanced back to her entourage and shrugged resignedly. They followed her in without complaint.

They were doused in air conditioned air when they passed over the threshold, but it wasn't the cold that made Flora Jane shiver. She stared as a man inside the front doors moved to walk beside Hyrmue, who looked very much the same with his thick brown beard and rounded musculature as he had the last time she'd seen him. "Dr. Light?"

The bearded scientist's nose wrinkled slightly, and his blue eyes twinkled when he smiled. "It's been a while, Flora."

Flora Jane looked between Light and Hyrmue suspiciously. "What are _you_ doing here?" She asked, almost repeating an earlier question.

"Well, Will and I came down around last Christmas to take a vacation." Light drawled smoothly. "That was the plan, anyhow, but things got switched around a bit. We've been helping Ezriah since then."

"So he's here too, is he?" Flora muttered, shaking her head. "I thought you two were technology gurus, how exactly have you been a help on making a better tree?"

"Ah ah ah." Dr. Hyrmue shushed her, smiling broadly. "That would be letting you in on our work before its dramatic revelation, wouldn't it? Don't worry, it's not much farther, and then we'll put an end to all this suspense."

The hallways and hollow tiled ceilings of the communications center slimmed out as they walked out to the other side of the building, and down a long corridor that connected to a shaded alcove with full open glass windows facing south. Wily was relaxing on one of the benches, calmly reading through a book as he waited for them.

"Hey Albert, the gang's all here." Dr. Light called out. His counterpart paused, slipped a bookmark against the interior of the spine to mark his place, and closed the book to stand. He offered polite nods to Dr. Jane and her team, then put on a warmer smile for Dr. Light.

"I was wondering when you'd get in." He remarked. "Ezriah's waiting outside for us; your Kewbee ran out of juice, so he's finishing up the watering."

"Aah, nuts." Light muttered, shaking his head. "I was wondering if I forgot to plug him in last night. No matter."

Jane frowned. "Watering? Watering what?"

Wily grinned and let off a cackle, then motioned with his book to one of the large windows. "Take a look outside. This time of day, you'll get a really nice view."

Dr. Jane and her team did so, and after blinking a few times, the botanist let out a gasp.

A grove of trees growing in the middle of nowhere was one of those things that always seemed to defy words.

Wily looked over to Light and smirked knowingly. Light tapped Dr. Jane on the shoulder, and stopped her from smushing her nose against the window as she craned for a better look.

"Come on. Dr. Hyrmue's already out there, waiting for us."

* * *

"They're...they're beautiful!" One of Dr. Jane's team members gushed as they walked out towards the small little piece of paradise in the barren outback. "Look, they must be at least fifteen feet high!"

"Close to seventeen now, actually." Wily corrected the man, leading them on. Everybody carried a thick umbrella over their heads to protect them from the sun's ever more dangerous ultraviolet light. "Hyrmue's been very good about taking daily readings."

From a distance, it seemed the most perfect grove in the world, but as they closed, some of the sharper eyed scientists began to pick up on the irregularities. "Huh, the leaves are plenty green enough, but it looks like you've got some bark damage there." One of them pointed out.

Wily thought about it. "No, the bark's fine."

Dr. Jane noticed it too, and they came in closer still. "No, look. That one over there, halfway to the left side...there's something off-color about it. Is that some new kind of fungal growth or a rot?"

Light couldn't help the giggle. "Sorry, that's not it either."

Jane frowned. "Well then, blast it, what could it possibly..."

They had reached twenty-five feet out, and after going nearly a quarter of a mile, Dr. Jane finally froze in her tracks. There were many things one knew to be on a tree, or expected to be on one...but this was a doozy for her.

She'd never seen a tree with integrated circuits before. It wasn't bark rubbed raw, it was flat out metallic, mechanical components seemingly stitched onto the tree's surface.

"What in the blazes..." She murmured, and moved at a faster clip towards it. She pulled a foot short and stared at it disbelievingly, reached a shaking hand up and brushed her fingertips against it, then recoiled when she found herself touching bare metal. A quick look about caused her to let out a strangled cry of dismay, and she backpedaled from the edge of the grove, horror in her eyes. "They've all got those..._things_ on them! What are these? Tree robots?"

Hyrmue smiled. "Actually, I've taken to calling them Treeborgs." He walked a little ways into the grove and changed his hat to a pith helmet that fully covered his face, head, and neck. "After all, that's really what they are."

Jane turned about and stared dumbstruck at Hyrmue. "This..._This_ is what you've been working on?" She asked, pointing towards the first horrible tree.

Hyrmue nodded. "I found a way to address the ultraviolet resistance problem: I avoided it entirely, and built a cybernetic organism." He walked towards them, and held his hands behind his back, a bit of pride in his swagger. "They operate just like any other tree out there. They draw in nutrients and minerals from the soil, their photovoltaic leaves absorb sunlight for energy, and they use their energy, water, and carbon dioxide in the air to make glucose for basic operations, and most importantly, oxygen by leaps and bounds." He chuckled. "Believe it or not, we've gone up to a 43 percent photosynthetic efficiency from sunlight to finished product. A normal tree would only see a yield of 6 percent."

He waved a hand about, motioning to the entire grove. "We started with one early on, about two months ago. Three weeks into the project, we built a dozen more and set them out as well. This small little patch of Treeborgs has put out a cumulative total of 1,875 cubic meters of oxygen since they started...and I haven't even ramped them up to maximum production yet."

Jane barely seemed to hear any of his miraculous news. The sight of the circuits in the trees had triggered a panic reaction in her. "It's an abomination, is what it is! Hyrmue, I knew you were unorthodox, but _this thing_ is too ludicrous, even coming from you!"

Hyrmue finally picked up on her distress, and raised an eyebrow. "Now hold on a minute there! Don't let your prejudices get in the way of seeing what this thing's capable of! We needed a way to mass produce oxygen and restore greenery to this earth. These Treeborgs can do it!"

Jane cut him off and held her hand towards him, palm out. Her eyes seethed with indignant fury. "This world was nearly destroyed on account of machines, on account of _his_ machines!" She snarled, and her eyes darted briefly to Wily. "And I promise you, machines will not save it, or feed it, or undo the damage that mankind's machines have already done! No, Dr. Hyrmue. The answer isn't with these...These _Treeborgs._"

Light glanced between the faces of his two comrades, watching Wily take the accusation stoically and Hyrmue start to collapse under the face of his project head.

"Please, reconsider! I beg you, give me the time to collect some more data, to compile an official report for Second Rainbow Headquarters!"

Dr. Flora Jane shook her head. "No. I'm putting an end to this Frankensteinian horror here and now. As for you, Dr. Hyrmue...you are excused from my project." She glanced to the other two scientists and shook her head. "There's nothing more for you three to do here. Go back to Alaska, and do some real work." Almost as an afterthought, she gave the three a curt nod of farewell before storming back off in a huff.

Thomas Light, Albert William Wily, and Ezriah Hyrmue watched by the grove as Dr. Jane and her team vanished. Light waited until they were out of earshot before finally snapping off his incredulous rage. "Why, that backwards thinking Neolithic Luddite...I ought to..."

"Steady on, Tom." Dr. Wily exhaled. "Yelling at her won't change anything." As usual, his remarkable calm was forever a source of boundless disbelief for his more rounded and muscular cohort. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hyrmue. I suppose even today, good ideas can be shot down by bias and retroactive paranoia."

"I'm amazed you let her get away with saying that about your robots." Hyrmue remarked, seething inside. "The whole world knows that your project was corrupted by your nation's war mongerers."

Wily chuckled and tucked his free hand in his pocket. "No, she didn't lie about that. Even if they were misused, turned for malicious purposes...the Kewbees are still my robots. Even as my hands are clean, I feel a shadow of the blood that used to cover them." He raised his protective umbrella a little higher and sighed. "Go ahead, Tom. I know you want to ask it."

"How can you be so damn calm? That...that woman's taken a half year of our life's work and dismissed it as garbage! Dangerous garbage! She's insulted you, all but fired Hyrmue, and accused us of loafing about!"

Wily rolled his eyes. "Tom, you're one of the few people that I like being around. Dr. Jane's the perfect example of the majority. They're shortsighted, driven by their base emotions and urges. They either don't think for themselves or rely on stereotypes and invalid assumptions. They're afraid of anything new and honest, but will sell their souls for something they can claim ownership of or membership to. It's people like Dr. Jane, directly or indirectly, that killed the world off."

He shook his head and started back towards the building with a sigh. "And there's still enough of them around that they might manage to do it again. Unless..."

Hyrmue and Light started to walk after Wily, trying to catch up. Hyrmue cocked his head to the side. "Unless what, Dr. Wily?"

Wily's eyes were cold and morose. "Unless they all have something to hate together."

* * *

_3:02 P.M._

"Sir, I beg you, please reconsider!" Dr. Hyrmue pleaded with Vinkus.

Over the video call, Vinkus shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hyrmue. Dr. Jane's already given me her report on your project. It's her department. You were supposed to work with her, not go over her head."

"Sir, she kicked me out of her facility and told me not to come back until I'd come up with an idea!" Hyrmue exploded. "Then when I do, she hates the damn thing! I'm telling you, _these Treeborgs WORK!"_

Vinkus sighed, and rubbed at his temples. "It's going to be one of those nights." He muttered quietly, though Hyrmue, and Wily, Light and Grant could easily hear him. "Yes, they may work. But Dr. Jane is the head of the botany works down in Australia. You were assigned under her as a member of her team. As such, she has the authority to approve or deny any project...and to reassign you."

"I don't care if she ships me back to Australia!" Hyrmue reiterated, looking like he was about to go off again. "Just, please, don't give up on these Treeborgs! With the right funding, we can implement them worldwide, and..."

"Drop it, Hyrmue." Vinkus snapped. The British scientist slammed his mouth shut, stung by the outburst. Vinkus stared hard at him, locking him into submission. "The Second Rainbow cannot fund your line of research. You're to report back to SRHQ, along with Wily and Light." He glanced over to the two scientists who had taken an extended six month leave of absence from their home laboratory. "The two of you have some work with Beskin to catch up on."

Wily rolled his eyes. "I swear, that man's utterly useless..."

Vinkus looked back to Hyrmue. "Understood?"

Hyrmue bowed his head, humiliated, defeated, and above all else, fuming. "Yes, sir."

Darwin Vinkus' eyes softened. "I'll give you a day to collect your things before you head back. And...for what it's worth, Dr. Hyrmue...I think your idea had merit."

The connection dropped out, and Hyrmue stood staring at the floor. His fists were clenched at his sides, shaking, and it was some seconds before he composed himself enough to look back to the other three.

"So, that's it then." He remarked coldly. "Flora Jane throws down an edict from on high, and this world's best hope for ozone regeneration's thrown out the window."

"You could have given her a strawberry bush and she would have done the same thing." Wily pointed out, stepping to Hyrmue's side and patting him on the shoulder consolingly. "Some people are just stubborn, and she takes the cake."

Hyrmue rubbed at his eyes with his right hand. "I understand you're trying to cheer me up, but...I don't think it's going to work. This was my one idea. My one _good_ idea. You believed in it." He looked up to Wily, and then back to Light. "You both did. Even Vinkus just said it had merit."

"Ye can't help it, mate." Titus Grant pointed out. "It's just another idea that got tangled up in the bureaucracy." The Australian sighed and scratched at his head. "Well, I guess you lot had to leave sometime. Would you mind if I at least treated you to one last drink at my favorite watering hole?"

Light couldn't help but wince. "All things considered...it's the only choice that makes sense right now."

* * *

_Great Barrier Bar_

_Sydney, Australia_

_4:14 P.M._

"Bottoms up, lads!" The four men of the Second Rainbow lifted their glasses up and wasted no time in downing the latest...rotgut, distilled from dried fruit. It had a sparky aftertaste, but it was cheaper than the bottled hard liquors they'd favored earlier on, and since they went with the plan of getting Hyrmue bombed, it made more sense.

Wily breathed shrilly, feeling the life being sucked out of his lungs when the kick hit home. "_God almighty_, but that burns."

Ordinarily, Hyrmue would burst out in laughter from such a remark, but while the others had plowed away two already, he was still nursing his first. He seemed lost in thought, and it did a remarkable job of killing the mood.

"It'll be all right." Light reminded the man, maintaining his sympathetic tone. "You'll figure something out."

"I did figure it out." Hyrmue grumbled. "I had it figured, I had the answer. Dr. Jane just decided to walk away from it."

"You can't change her, remember?" Wily wiped some distilled death from his mustache. "Once she has her mind set on something, she never changes it. And because of that, you can't change the Second Rainbow."

Hyrmue nodded numbly in agreement. He leaned forward and raised the glass to his lips.

He did not tilt it back. The glass cup hovered for a bit, pressed against his skin, and then it came back down.

The others looked to Hyrmue as he slowly looked around the table. There was a calm over his face; a calm that spoke of some unleashed answer.

"She can't change." He repeated. Light and Wily nodded. Hyrmue stroked at his chin and narrowed his eyes. "I can."

This puzzled everyone else until Hyrmue pushed his glass away from him and exhaled. "I can quit."

"What?" Light exclaimed incredulously. "What do you mean, quit?"

"Quit the Second Rainbow." Hyrmue explained, as cool as a cucumber. "If they're not going to approve these Treeborgs, then I'll make them myself."

Titus Grant laughed unsteadily. "Crikey, you had me goin' there for a minu..." He paused, and searched Ezriah's eyes. "You're...you're not yanking my chain, are you?"

Ezriah Hyrmue shook his head. "No, lad. I'm serious."

Light pulled on his beard. "Ezriah...I like the Treeborgs as much as you, but they're not cheap. That first one ran us nearly 4000 dollars in materials alone, to say nothing of labor costs!"

"And every time we made another one, we did it faster, better, and more uniformly." Hyrmue batted away the defeatist rationale. "I spent six _months_ of my life making an impossibility a reality. We made cybernetic trees, for God's sake! We've made an entirely new form of plant life that has the ability to save this planet!" He leaned towards Light, and his eyes burned. _"I know I'm right."_ He growled warningly. "Without these Treeborgs, this planet is going to be bombarded with more and more ultraviolet rays every year, until it is strong enough that people won't die in months after lethal exposure, but weeks or days. And if the Second Rainbow won't make them, then I will."

"That kind of an operation won't come cheaply." Wily mused quietly. "What few lenders are left wouldn't be too keen at throwing money at your project, especially with the Second Rainbow's naysay. I agree with you. We need Treeborgs. But as it stands, you need capital to start manufacturing Treeborgs on the scale you need. That's capital you don't have."

Hyrmue stared at Wily, and the 'mad scientist' stared back at him, waiting for some defiant retort. None came, as Hyrmue sighed and buried his head in his hands.

"Unbelievable. Does will account for nothing? Is a dream completely useless? All I need is money...And I live in a world that will not give it."

The British scientist shook his head and slumped on the table in defeat. "We tried, lads. We tried."

"We did." Wily agreed. He pushed himself away from the table and stood up. "Tom, I've got to visit the little boy's room. I'll meet you outside...we'd best start packing." Not waiting for a reply, he disappeared towards the back.

Titus stood up as well and stretched his arms. "I suppose I'd best pay the tab and be on my way; my pager went off while we were on our first drink. Those bastards back at the C3 probably burned a wing down after we left."

"Night, Titus." Light smiled and waved. "It was good being able to spend time with you again."

"Time and a half." The Aussie snorted, pulling out his billfold. "For a while, I could've sworn you two were my roommates again." He waved and headed towards the register, leaving Light and Hyrmue alone.

Dr. Light waited a few seconds, then pulled his fingers through his beard. "Do you want to come back with us, Dr. Hyrmue?"

The British scientist shook his head, defeated and lost, and fast growing drunk. "No, lad. No...I think I'll stay here for a while. I'm in no hurry to go anywhere now."

Light patted the man on the shoulder and stood up. "Call a taxi when you're done, all right?"

"Afraid I mean to kill myself?" Hyrmue snorted bitterly. "Death isn't worth the effort."

With nothing else to offer, Light quietly moved towards the door and waited for Wily to finish his business. He kept himself from turning around and looking back to Hyrmue, knowing he would see nothing but a broken man, crushed by a system still too mired in bureaucracy to let real genius shine. It left him wondering, almost snidely, when he or Wily would be discarded because of 'radical' ideas.

His pants buzzed.

Light blinked. His pants buzzed? He looked down to his pocket. Sure enough...buzzing.

Someone was calling him.

He reached inside and plucked out his uplink communicator; a next-generation cell phone tied to the hovering satellite network that all Second Rainbow members carried. He checked the screen and blinked. "Xanthos?"

Light hit the receive button and pressed it to the side of his face. "Xanthos, is that you?"

_"It is indeed, Dr. Light. I haven't heard from you in quite a while. I was starting to worry about you down in Australia."_

Light smiled. "Sorry to hear that, Oliver. No, I'm fine. Physically."

_"...Uh oh. That carried an add-on. What's wrong, Thomas?"_

"You know how I've been on extended leave down here in Australia, working with Hyrmue on his idea?"

_"Yes, those robotic trees. What of them?"_

"We...we showed the grove off to Dr. Jane earlier today, and she dismissed them out of hand, with extreme prejudice. The last six months of our work's down the drain, and the one good idea to come out of this hemispheric Hellhole might as well be stuffed in a drawer."

_"I don't follow." _

"Jane killed the project. Hyrmue was going on a few minutes ago about how he was going to quit the Second Rainbow...make them himself, if the Rainbow wasn't going to help him."

_"That sounds like a terrific idea!"_

"Yeah." Light sighed. "It is. Only problem is, Hyrmue's going to have a black mark the size of Texas on his reputation after this. Nobody's going to want to lend him money, much less help him to start a business to make and distribute these things."

_"...I see." _Xanthos' cheerful tone had evaporated, and he seemed to be more thoughtful. _"Thomas, tell me something. You've been gushing on forever about this Treeborg project. Does it have merit?"_

"They make more oxygen than normal trees ever could. They're self-sufficient, and they can be adapted to grow in any climate." Light added, sighing again. "Yeah. It's nothing but merits. Unfortunately, Flo's just...just..."

_"I understand." _Xanthos soothed him. _"So what happens now?"_

"Now?" Light mused. "Now, Al and I get to pack. We've been ordered by Vinkus to return back to Alaska tomorrow."

_"Well, that's a shame. I was actually on my way down to visit you." _Xanthos remarked. _"I suppose I'll just save myself the airfare now."_

"You might as well." Light agreed.

_"And what about Dr. Hyrmue?"_

"Him?" Light closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the tavern. "I don't know. He might quit after all. I wouldn't blame him. There's nothing left for him to do in the Second Rainbow now. He had his one good idea, he said...and he's all out."

_"Do you believe that?" _Xanthos prodded. _"Do you believe that every person only has one good idea to last their entire life?"_

"I don't know." Dr. Light thought aloud. "If that was the case...it'd make the rest of your life afterwards boring.

_"Unless good ideas are like fiction." _Xanthos quipped. _"That is, that there's only a few stories...and everything else out there is just reinterpretation."_

"You may be right." Light chuckled. He opened his eyes, and saw Wily coming towards him. "I'd better sign off. Al's coming out of the restroom. We'll see you when we get back."

_"I'll crack open a bottle of the '38 for you two. Get home soon!"_ Xanthos' connection clicked off, and Light slid the communicator back in his pocket.

Wily sidled up to him. "Who was that?"

"Xanthos." The bearded scientist replied, turning for the coat hanger beside the door. He picked up his protective outer vestments and slipped them on. "He was just wondering about us."

"The man's awfully thoughtful." Wily agreed, putting on his own overcoat. "What did you tell him?"

Light put his wide-brimmed hat on and opened the door. "I told him we were coming home." Thomas Light finished quietly.

* * *

_Ezriah Hyrmue's Apartment, Sydney_

_June 2nd, 2049 C.E._

_2:21 A.M._

His light flipped on. This didn't immediately wake him up, but eventually, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough that the sensation bothered him. He came to with a grimace and a grunt. He hated it when people turned the lights on.

Hyrmue froze midshift, and opened his eyes. _Wait a minute._

With a strangled gasp of surprise, and expecting to be killed by whatever thief had found his way into his domicile, Hyrmue bolted upright and clutched the bedcovers to his chest.

A young woman sat in the chair he kept in his bedroom, watching him intently. She was immaculately dressed and preened, given the hour of night; all professional. Black hair the color of midnight was pinned back behind her head, and emerald eyes scanned him for any sign of resistance. Her body was well proportioned, but in spite of her beauty, there was a hardness that spoke of a strength best left untested.

"Who...who are you?" Hyrmue demanded shakily. "What do you want?"

The woman nodded. "My name is Miss Bravewind."

"Never heard of you."

"That is for the best." She told him coolly. "I've come here to give you an offer."

Hyrmue reached to his nightstand and fumbled for his reading glasses. "Do you usually break into people's apartments and do this?"

"Only when the situation requires it." Miss Bravewind replied. "Now, listen carefully."

Hyrmue leaned forward, deciding that cooperation was the best policy. His heart was still racing.

Miss Bravewind rested her right hand across her lap. "It has come to the attentions of my employer that you have come up with a unique solution to the current global crisis. Some sort of biomechanical life form that can withstand the harsh conditions of a thinned ozone climate."

"My Treeborgs?" Hyrmue asked, surprised. "But...nobody knew about that! Nobody but the Second Rainbow!"

"My employer is not a member of the Second Rainbow." Miss Bravewind replied, straight faced and stern. "He does, however, know a good idea when he sees one. And unlike certain...individuals in your organization, he knows when to strike when the iron is hot."

Hyrmue's eyes narrowed. "What are you driving at, then?"

"My employer wishes to bankroll your Treeborg operations and production." The femme fatale elaborated. "The Second Rainbow has all but shown you the door; why not step out of it before they force you out, and make your Treeborgs reality?"

"It sounds like a truly generous offer." Hyrmue mused. "Maybe that's the problem. What's the catch?"

"There is no catch." She reassured him. "However, my employer _does_ wish to remain anonymous for the time being. All he asks is a certain percentage of the ongoing profits and fifteen percent of the controlling stock and assets...A reasonable request, given the magnitude of what he is offering."

"...He'll pay for it all?" Hyrmue surmised disbelievingly.

"You have demonstrated a remarkable will. All you lack is the necessary capital. He would like to see your Treeborgs become a reality almost as much as you do. He believes, as you do, that Treeborgs are necessary if the human race is to endure above ground." She raised an eyebrow at him. "So, then. What is your answer?"

Hyrmue laughed quietly and rubbed at his hair. "Am I still dreaming?" He mused aloud. "A beautiful woman appears in my bedroom and offers me the world, if I just accept the help of her master. Now tell me that that doesn't smack of some overplayed drama involving deals with the devil."

Miss Bravewind smiled. "An interesting analogy. I can assure you, though, that he is no devil in this age. He has as much to gain or lose as anyone else, but a great deal to give, if people would ask for it." She flexed her hand and extended it out towards him slightly, palm up. "So here we come to your decision. Say no, and I will leave your apartment and never bother you again. You can return to the Second Rainbow, unmolested, and serve for as long as they'll have you. Or...you say yes, and my employer will use every resource at his disposal to make your Treeborg plant a reality, and to start to ship them around the globe and popularize them. Not in months, or years, but in days and weeks. The choice is yours, Doctor."

Hyrmue sat in his bed, considering things for a very long time.

"I believe in this." He said, looking up to her and locking eyes, in spite of his terrified desire to hide his face from those cutting green pupils. "To me, these Treeborgs aren't just another project. They are my life's work. They're my children. Do you understand that?"

"We want children to live and grow." Miss Bravewind replied. "So what is your answer?"

Hyrmue sighed for a long moment, then nodded his head. "Yes." He acceded to his destiny. "Yes. If he can make it happen...then let it be."

Miss Bravewind stood and smoothed out her business suit. "Very well, sir. You may want to hand in your resignation tomorrow morning when you wake up; You'll have no time for the Second Rainbow once this is started."

Hyrmue blinked. "Wait...won't they try to stop me?" He realized, with a brain cleared of the muddling alcohol from hours before.

Miss Bravewind smiled and pulled a pair of glasses from her coat pocket. She slipped them on and shook her head. "Come, now. That bunch? No, they'll gladly let you go."

She allowed herself a small chuckle and turned for the door. "For what fools they are."

Leaving Ezriah Hyrmue to ponder whether or not he'd dreamed it all, she closed the door behind her, locking it as she went.

Outside the apartment building, Jessica Bravewind reached into a different pocket and produced a miniaturized earpiece headset. One push of a button, one quick syllable, and she was connected with her employer in a heartbeat.

"He said yes, sir."

Oliver Xanthos' voice let out a hearty laugh at the news. _"Wonderful! A terrific job as always, Jess! Now come on back to the docks, so we can celebrate!"_

Proving once more how truly rakish he could be, Oliver Xanthos was sitting out in Sydney Harbor aboard the _Socrates_, his personal hydrofoil ship. He had been aboard and sailing into Australian waters when he had called Light only hours before, and lied about it. Now the lie was justified, for it had borne results.

Jessica rolled her eyes at her employer's usual levity. "I'm not sure if it's qualified, Oliver. The work's not even started yet."

_"Oh, it will, it will. Don't worry. But you need to take the small victories as well."_

Jessica's face softened as she maneuvered towards her hydrogen powered car in the complex's parking lot. "Oliver?"

_"Yes, my dear?"_

"...What you're doing for him, it's a very noble thing."

That comment set Oliver Xanthos to thinking, and it was some time before he chuckled again over the connection. _"It likely is. For the first time since the Second Rainbow was started...I feel good about what I've done."_

Jessica smiled, and opened her car door. "Get some sleep, Mr. Xanthos. You've a big day tomorrow."

_"So does the world."_ He answered, and the connection ended.

* * *

_Camden International Airport_

_Outside of Sydney, Australia_

_June 3rd, 2049 C.E._

_10:14 A.M._

_"Last call for the flight to Alaska. Last call."_

Wily looked back over his shoulder. "Tom, come on! That plane's going to take off whether we like it or not, and I'd prefer to be on it!"

Ten feet behind his counterpart, Light ignored Wily and held his communicator closer to his ear. "I'm still having trouble believing this...You sure that you can quit like that?"

Over the noise of hydraulics and other machinery, Ezriah Hyrmue laughed. _"Tom, I can do whatever I feel like! I'm going to make my Treeborgs a reality, and the Second Rainbow can stuff it, for all I care! Besides, it's not like we signed contracts surrendering our services to the United Nations for the rest of our life."_

"But won't they try to stop you?"

_"Oh, they can bloody well try all they like. It won't change a blessed thing. Treeborg Industries is a wholly-owned private corporation and it'll stay that way for a long time. Just you wait, Tom...You'll see Treeborgs on every continent in seven months!"_

Light smiled, and shook his head. "Unbelievable. Your dream's coming true. And if you can implement them on that scale, then we might actually..."

_"Have a chance at getting Beskin's high atmospheric drones to work? That's the plan, Tom." _There was a shout at the other end, and Hyrmue's voice went quiet for a few seconds before he spoke again. _"Tom, the foreman needs me for something. I'll talk to you later, all right?"_

"I'll hold you to it, Ez." Dr. Light smirked. "Good luck."

_"And Godspeed."_

Light pulled his phone away and walked towards Wily, who was tapping his foot impatiently at the exit gate.

"Finally." The sour-faced roboticist huffed, whirling about and starting up again. "I thought you'd never shut up."

"I was just saying goodbye to Ezriah. The way it sounds, we won't be seeing him for a long while."

"Yes, there's that whole sticky business about him handing in his resignation." Wily added. "Can you believe that Vinkus called me up the other day screaming his head off about us trying to get him back?"

"What did you say to him?"

Wily's smile was positively ruthless. "I reminded him that not long ago, he had told Hyrmue the Treeborgs had merit. It seemed rather ridiculous for him to get irritable because Hyrmue went to pursue a project that the Second Rainbow clearly had no intention of funding."

"Yup, that probably shut him up right quick."

"It did. I imagine he's a bit peeved at me right now." Wily concluded. "But in the meantime, it's back to the salt mines for us. We're going to have our hands full when we get back."

Light sighed, lugging his bag behind him. "Honestly. We just spent six months of what should have been a two week vacation designing the next evolutionary leap in cybernetic organisms. I think we're going to need a vacation from this vacation."

"No such luck, I'm afraid." Wily led Light out through the gate tunnel, and to the doorway of their transport aircraft. It was a very surreal experience, knowing that only a few centimeters of metal and carpet separated the deadly rays of the high morning sun from them. "Beskin's close to a breakthrough, so he says...Of course, it's not really his breakthrough."

"Let me guess. He got someone else to do more work for him?"

"Say what you will about the man, but he is a consummate recruiter." Wily spun his finger about in the air. "He needs us to take a look at the drone schematics when we get back. It seems as though my modifications are giving him a headache."

"Why? Did you use those new ranadium wire clusters?"

"I could've, but it's wired with standard copper. Problem is, the drone's composed of a tungsten-gold alloy."

Light winced. "That's a recipe for disaster. Damn thing's probably shorting out. Idiot probably didn't bother insulating the hookups."

"I think you have the situation pegged, my friend." Albert Wily said prosaically, stepping out the end of the terminal passage and into their plane. He helped Light across the threshold and smiled. "Still, it's going to have its perks, showing him up again."

"You live for those little moments of superiority, don't you?" Light asked, hefting his luggage to the flight's stewardess for stowing. Wily didn't even bother with his, sitting it in the seat by the window before taking the aisle seat.

The mad scientist of the defunct Institute relaxed his hands over his stomach and smiled to Light. "Sometimes. Right now, I've got another reason to live."

Light, amused as ever at Wily's bizarre little quirks, took the seat in the row opposite his friend and smiled at him dryly. "And what would that be?"

Wily laughed lowly. "If my figures were right, and if Hyrmue can manage global distribution...did he happen to mention how long that would take?"

"I think he said seven months before they hit an acceptable global saturation."

Wily mulled over the numbers in his head. "Early 2050, then...Well, all right."

"What are you driving at, exactly?"

Wily smiled wider and closed his eyes, letting the rumble of the plane's engines lull him with its vibrations. "What I mean to say is, by next summer...We should have enough oxygen saturation in the atmosphere to put Beskin's ozone reinitialization drones to work."

* * *

_New Shirewick Freshwater Facility_

_Antarctica_

_March 4th, 2050 C.E._

_7:41 P.M._

The wind had died down, and the sun offered its bright, but heatless light across the horizon.

A Snowcat drudged drearily along in the barren glacial setting, protecting its inhabitants from the elements, and thanks to its tinted windows, from the debilitating and ever more fatal ultraviolet radiation. It rolled on its tanklike treads, making a slow, but steady pace away from the New Shirewick facility that was responsible for the creation of so much of earth's needed potable water. It was a desolate stretch, an outpost in the middle of nowhere, both vitally important and forever ignored.

Well, it was still ignored to a large degree, Dr. Seymour Froid thought to himself. New Shirewick was relatively low on the totem pole for crises, and thus, interest by the rest of the Second Rainbow. One thing it was no longer, the chemist thought as he stared out the Snowcat's side window...was desolate.

Buried in the expanses of glacial ice about the water reclamation facility, trees stubbornly grew up from frozen water that shouldn't have even been able to support it. Dr. Froid recalled that these trees...Treeborgs...came in several varieties. Staring at the frosted fronds of the ones dotted around his workplace, a question came to mind.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask...Why palm trees?"

Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue, his guest for the day, leaned forward in his seat and smiled. "Why not?" He countered coyly, before reaching for his real answer. "Actually, the palm tree series has the largest photovoltaic surface area, thanks to those large fronds. Down here in Antarctica, with as little sun as you get, they need all the help they can get."

Froid rubbed at his chin, which was coated with two days' growth of brown stubble. "I noticed that your team attached something else to the Treeborg's roots when you planted them; what was that?"

"Nutrient supplement packs." Hyrmue explained calmly. "They're hardy enough to grow almost anywhere, even here in this frozen Hell, but they still require a few basic nourishments to function. As a matter of fact, those supplement packs are one of the few components we don't create back at Treeborg Industries: We have them shipped to us from the Second Rainbow's agricultural division."

"Oh, yes." Froid mused distantly. "Flora Jane's department, isn't it? I had heard you had a falling out with her."

Hyrmue's smile waned for an instant. "Well, it's true that the two of us didn't always see quite eye to eye on things. But she's a good woman. Just stubborn, is all."

Froid chuckled. "And you're any better? The great "Robotic Rogue?"

Hyrmue laughed. "God almighty, I'd nearly forgotten that some people called me that. Still, it's a fair sight better than my last nickname."

"What was that?" Froid asked. Hyrmue chuckled a little softer and shook his head, changing the topic.

"Well, our check's revealed that all your little friends are growing healthy and proud." Hyrmue began. "They're pouring out obscene amounts of precious oxygen into the atmosphere around and above this outpost; Combined with the other Treeborg districts about the globe, we'll soon be ready for the next step."

Froid rubbed his gloved hands together, searching for warmth even in the heated cab. "And just what is the next step?"

Hyrmue's smile was as wide as the entire glacial horizon. "Undoing seven decades of atmospheric decay in seven days."

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters, Alaska_

_March 18th, 2040 C.E._

_8:48 P.M._

Like everyone else that congregated outside of the SRHQ, Oliver Xanthos kept himself bundled in his parka and ignored the cold. It was easy to, given that they were on the forefront of a mighty miracle. He smiled and looked over to his protector and secretary, the fetching Jessica Bravewind. "Can you feel it, Jess?"

The trained warrior pushed some windblown black hair away from her face, and looked at him expressionlessly. "Feel what, sir?"

Oliver smiled. "The electricity in the air. The absolute energy of this place."

Jessica looked around blankly, and Oliver sighed. "But you don't feel that electricity, do you?"

Dr. Paul Beskin came to her rescue, strolling up to the two and giving the billionare philanthropist a quiet smile. "Well, not yet anyhow. Not until we launch the ZOOSes."

Xanthos chuckled. "I admit, I was surprised you chose such an old mythological reference. Not that I mind, since it comes from my culture, but what was the acronym for again?"

"Zenith Ozone Operational System." Beskin repeated. "A bit wordy."

"Stick to Zeus, then." Xanthos smiled. He glanced over through the crowds and spied Darwin Vinkus, who was clearly not enjoying all the cameras pointed at his face. "Hey, you're the star of the show here. Why don't you go rescue our fearless leader from the news crews? It looks like D'Whyste brought all his friends with him today."

Beskin looked over and snorted. "News crews. I would have thought the world would have gotten rid of them after the last war."

Xanthos harrumphed. "I would have thought that the Wars would have gotten rid of all the bigoted politicians as well...But then again, somebody once said that the cockroaches would outlive everything else."

Beskin chuckled and walked off, leaving Xanthos to look up to Jessica. She was looking at him with that evaluating stare. "Something wrong, Jess?"

"I'm just concerned about your mental condition, sir." She told him plainly. "Your remarks are like the sort you made during the years of the war. Very bitter."

"Relax, love." Oliver Xanthos replied with a long sigh. He looked back over the crowd, and spied Thomas Light and Albert Wily, watching with as much rapt attention as all the rest. "I found something to live for again."

"Those two?" She asked dubiously, following his eyes.

"No." He chuckled, and shook his head. "The world that they are going to make." He turned his head back around and smiled at her, taking her hand in his. His thumb stroked her knuckles gently. "And you, of course."

"Oh, of course." She replied, finally cracking a wry grin. "Then, there's also the equivalent 6000 percent return on your Treeborg investment for being Hyrmue's first shareholder...Close to 850 million, wasn't it?"

" 860 million, after the markets closed today." Xanthos laughed quietly, still stroking her hand. He turned his head back around and looked on past the crowd, to the recently constructed airfield just beside their facility. The twenty foot long aircraft sitting on the tarmac there held everybody's attention. "There's that as well."

All cameras were indeed on Darwin Vinkus, who yet remained in charge of the Second Rainbow. That, as a matter of fact, had been the last topic that Marcel D'Whyste, the Second Rainbow's 'on-site reporter' from CNN had put to him.

"Well, I won't be sad to hand over the position of site coordinator to somebody else more gullible...er, willing." Vinkus said, smiling as he 'caught' himself and offered a wink. "Acting as the United Nations representative for the group was trying enough."

"Do you think that you've done a poor job as site coordinator, then?" The Frenchman Marcel posed, smiling with a slightly upturned lip.

Vinkus smiled back, with the same amount of controlled venom. Theirs had become a hate-hate relationship, because Marcel loved to chip away at the cracks of the Second Rainbow and its purposes, even while the rest of the world sang the group's praises. "Well, I wouldn't say I've done a _poor_ job." He remarked offhandedly. "After all, we did manage to rebuild and decontaminate Paris while I've been in office."

Marcel's smile strained a bit, and he offered a quiet nod. "So you did." He said, as close to a compliment as he would ever come. Vinkus managed to keep his chuckle hidden.

_It's too bad these cameras aren't pointed at you right now, you arrogant French prick._

"Still, SRHQ Site Coordinator was Rebecca June's job to begin with...and I don't think that anybody could fully take her place." Vinkus went on, acting properly subdued. "She was a good woman." He shook it off and smiled again for the cameras. "Regardless, we've chosen Dr. Paul van Hostick of Norway as our new site Coordinator. The Second Rainbow has faith in him, as it does in all its members."

Marcel smiled. Now came the knife. "And yet, a year ago, one of your own, Dr. Ezriah Hyrmue resigned from the Second Rainbow, citing a total lack of faith in his abilities as a scientist. Now today, his technological breakthrough, the Treeborg, is being hailed as a hallmark of salvation, and his company grossed nearly 1.3 Billion Euros in profits last quarter _alone_. Where was the Second Rainbow's faith back then?"

Vinkus took the blow, and froze up, not sure what response to offer. He didn't have to, thankfully, for an observant pair walked right into the interview.

"The Rainbow's faith was with him even then." Light proclaimed, walking up beside Vinkus and resting his hand on the younger man's shoulder. Vinkus turned to look at him in surprise, and Light smiled widely, turning for the cameras. "Doctor Hyrmue remains a good friend to everyone here at the Rainbow. The only lack of faith ever shown to him was by his fellow colleagues in the field...and that's just natural rivalry."

Marcel's eyes flickered over the interrupting Second Rainbow member with recognition. "Doctor...Light, wasn't it?"

Light smiled. "One and the same." Wily strolled up as well, taking his own sweet time, and Light motioned towards him. "And you recall Doctor Wily as well, I imagine."

"It's good to see you two doing well, but...I'm a little puzzled as to what exactly you can contribute to Mr. Vinkus' interview." Marcel said, leaving a none too subtle hint that they were becoming a bother.

Wily snorted and crossed his arms, in his usual brusque manner. "More than you know, you overpaid parrot." Marcel's face turned bright purple at the comeback, and Wily's mustache twitched as he smirked in triumph. "The fact is, we were with Dr. Hyrmue when he was told that his department head was turning down his proposal for the Treeborgs. Representative Vinkus here was every ounce the gentleman, and he said, and I quote, _I thought your idea had merit. _There's your answer, Mr. D'Whyste. Vinkus, like most of us, believed that Hyrmue's idea was not only sound, but revolutionary. It was just the backwards thinking of a few individuals I won't bother naming who kept it down." He didn't break his eyes from the stare he leveled at Marcel. "So the next time, before you decide to demonize a good man to drum up circulation on your website, you might want to get the facts straight. It's just good journalism."

On camera, Wily, Light, and a still stunned and frozen Vinkus watched and waited silently. Off camera, Marcel turned every shade of red and purple imaginable, much to the amusement of the other camera crews and reporters on site, and swallowed half a dozen retorts, all of which Light could have perfectly understood and countered with seething invective. Deciding against rash action, Marcel cleared his throat-Twice-and then shunted his rage away.

"Of course, there's a more important reason for our presence here at the Second Rainbow Headquarters tonight. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Vinkus, I think I spy the man of the hour, Dr. Beskin approaching."

"Oh, by all means." Vinkus said, smiling genially and doing his best to not snicker. He waved Marcel off. "I'm sure he'll be glad to take your questions."

Without another word, Marcel and the other news teams sublimated towards Dr. Beskin, leaving Light, Wily, and Vinkus to watch them go.

Wily pursed his lips, and still smiling, offered a comment. "You know, I don't think that interview's going to make the news tonight."

"Gee, is that so?" Light retorted, finally snorting his way into a fit of giggles.

Vinkus exhaled loudly and stared between the two. "I hate news crews, but _Jesus_, what inspired you two to try that stunt?"

"Just looking out for a friend, Dar." Albert Wily said, patting the man on the side of the arm and turning to look towards the runway. "You were drowning. Not that I blame you; I'd shove a firecracker up his ass if I thought it would change his disposition."

"News people." Light agreed sagely. "They don't report news. They make it up."

Wily tucked his hands into the outer pockets of his parka. "You know, we could almost get away with wearing our lab coats out here, Tom?"

"And get snow on them?" Light scoffed. "That would clean them off!"

"Given the air freshener you pinned to my lapel last week, I would have thought that was the idea." Wily answered primly.

"No, that was for your breath. That's the last time you eat Kimchi." Light rebutted, and the two laughed. Vinkus stared between them, and finally cracked a smile himself.

"I'm younger than you, and yet I'm starting to look older than you. I guess I should laugh more."

"And have large amounts of vigorous sex." Wily added.

Light looked over and raised an eyebrow. "That works?"

Wily shrugged. "Doesn't hurt."

* * *

"Two years ago, crops we had planted began to fail. Two years ago, temperatures still spiraled upwards, forests began to thin and die, and more cases of skin cancer by percentage arose in every outpost of human society." Dr. Beskin began. Every camera turned towards him, and every voice went silent, for here was someone who spoke with authority. The man ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and nodded calmly to them all. "We discovered the reason for this was a depletion of the ozone layer; not just over Antarctica, which had held a hole since the 1980's at least, but a worldwide _thinning_, thanks to the aftereffects of nuclear warfare. Because of this, ultraviolet radiation-the harmful kind-was able to wreak havoc over our planet unabated."

He paused, and when nobody interrupted him, went on. "The goal put to us was simple; fix the ozone layer. But the damage was extensive. There was too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, and not enough oxygen. Without an acceptable percentage of oxygen, any attempt at repair would have been useless. Thanks to our comrade Dr. Hyrmue, the problem of the oxygen and carbon dioxide imbalance has been rendered moot. Some of you may not believe that the Second Rainbow approves of him. That could not be farther from the truth. From the beginning, we have all worked towards the same goal of saving this planet. In fact, without specialized nutrient supply packs made both here and in Australia, many of his Treeborgs would not be able to function where they are. Thanks to Hyrmue and his Treeborgs, we have achieved the necessary percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere to try for a small miracle...As Hyrmue put it, _"Undoing seven decades' worth of damage in seven days." _To do this, my team and I have been working for two years as well now on a high altitude flight drone we've labeled ZOOS, or Zeus, informally." Beskin motioned to the runway, and the eyes turned. "This is one of close to three hundred similar aerial drones that we have produced and dispatched to geometric points about the globe. ZOOS is twenty feet long, weighs three thousand pounds, and has a wingspan of forty-five feet. Its outer shell is composed of a tungsten-gold alloy to protect it from the high altitude conditions it will be flying in. It is powered through a combination of standard jet fuel and high altitude rocket fuel for its thrusters, wireless microwave energy at low altitudes for its onboard systems, and a prototype fusion drive once it goes beyond the reach of our microwave emitters: Contributions made through the hard work and dedication of Dr. Han and Dr. Flynn, respectively. ZOOS's objective will be to fly to an altitude of 160,000 feet, at the very edge of the stratosphere, and engage a high energy electrical impulse into the atmosphere. This will duplicate the natural high-altitude lightning strikes that were once so prevalent in earth's storm systems, if it works correctly. This false lightning will trigger the electrochemical reaction at high altitudes which converts oxygen...into ozone."

Beskin exhaled. "All of this would not be possible if the full weight of the Second Rainbow...and the world...had not been behind all the work and the expense. It was human folly which caused this, but it is human _perseverance_ and _genius_ that will save us all once more. On behalf of myself, and my team...Thank you. To everyone in the Second Rainbow, and to everyone in the world who put their faith in us. It is because of you we are standing here tonight."

There was polite applause, and then the news teams set into work with rapid-fire questions. Beskin calmly pointed to a middle-aged woman on the left side of their flank. "Yes, you."

"Dr. Beskin, do you mean to say that this one flight of worldwide unmanned flight drones will be able to fix the ozone layer in one trip?"

Beskin shook his head. "No, Hyrmue's quote stands. He drew the figures from my own team's conversion estimates. We suspect it will take four, perhaps as many as seven flights from the 300 ZOOSes to completely undo the damage."

"You mentioned a _fusion_ drive in the technical specs?" Another reporter asked warily. "Is that safe?"

Beskin smiled. "Well, I could let you talk to Bailey Flynn after the launch, but simply put, yes. His fusion drive is a marvel, and even in the case of a containment breach, would produce no ambient radiation or fallout. The explosion would literally eat itself. It is rather expensive, but given the astounding amount of power needed to replicate a healthy high altitude lightning storm, the fusion drive's impressive energy output is required." He glanced around. No more hands came up. "No more questions? Very well then. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the ZOOS."

The runway's floodlights came on, and the beams were guided down until the ZOOS drone was in full view. It was simplistic, with a faint gold outer coating and the occasional gray underneath. In fact, outside of the one bizarre looking piece of equipment...A long rod that ran down the length of the craft's back, braced by the nose with a hydraulic lift and topped with a bulbous sphere...It looked like any other ordinary drone aircraft that had been popularized back in the early decades of the 21st Century.

Beskin reached to his back pocket and produced a walkie talkie. "How's the pre-flight checkouts?"

_"All green, sir." _The radio crackled, as clear as a bell to the assembled crowd thanks to his microphone. Beskin smiled.

"Then go ahead and launch it. Send the signal for worldwide activation. It's time to test their wings."

The thrusters whined up, and slowly but surely, the ZOOS drone taxied out. Barely half a minute later, it was streaking down the runway with a roar, and then it lifted up and vanished into the night sky, invisible.

Beskin watched the sky where it had been for several long moments before turning back to the crowd. "It will take the ZOOS approximately three minutes to reach its designated height...afterwards, we should witness the high altitude discharge quite well."

"What is it going to look like?" Somebody asked, a Second Rainbow member this time instead of a reporter. Beskin tried to find the man in the audience, but couldn't and shrugged with a faint smile.

"It will be bright...and it should arc like spider webs. But I've never seen them from this side of the sky, since clouds usually block it." He motioned above him. "But right now, there's not a cloud in sight. So this may be surreal...perhaps even a little frightening. It might even seem like we've set the sky ablaze."

That caused some murmurs, but common sense and shushes drowned out the worried doubters. Silence came over them, and they waited, for there was nothing else _to _do.

The prescribed time of three minutes came...

And went. Nothing happened, and the stars twinkled on. A few murmurs arose. Ten more seconds passed. People looked to each other, to Beskin, to the sky. _Did it fail?_ The whispers asked.

Three minutes and seventeen seconds after the ZOOS had lifted off, though, everybody found speech the hardest thing in the world. The best a lucky few could manage was an astonished gasp.

As if some celestial spirit was connecting the stars in the sky and making constellations real, a visible crack of lightning, a jagged and unshapely line splintered across the sky, sparking branches for what was surely miles.

Then another came. And another, only a second and a half later. More came, faster.

Just as Beskin had predicted, a spiderweb formed in the sky, and while it still remained night, an eerie light fell over the transfixed, bundled crowd below.

Four minutes and twelve seconds after takeoff, the spiderwebs of lightning faded from the skies, and a deep, blinding darkness overtook them. People finally blinked, rubbed at their eyes, and tried to see again, and even with their eyelids closed, the lightning was etched into their sight.

Wily, Light, and Vinkus looked to each other, and then up to Beskin. The ZOOS project head, a meteorologist and storm scientist who had been spared by war, reached for his digital tablet and began tapping at it nervously.

"One Hell of a light show." Light whispered. "But look at Beskin. He's not sitting right. Did it work?"

Before anybody could answer his question, another gasp arose from the crowd...but this time, it was one of reverence.

Light jerked his eyes skyward, and fell victim to the same captivating sight.

Over their heads, in the Alaskan night sky, iridescent ribbons of green and purple and blue began to form and dance about, shimmering as they moved.

It was achingly beautiful. Light swallowed. He'd heard of it, but...

"Al...Is that..."

Dr. Albert Wily said nothing for a moment, and brought his hand to his face. Almost too late, Thomas X. Light realized his friend was clearing a tear away.

"Yes, Tom." Wily said, soft and with a solemn hush. "That's the Aurora Borealis."

Vinkus stared between the two. "So what? It's pretty, but what does it mean? The effect's caused by the magnetosphere."

"Half true." Light hiccupped, setting his hand on Wily's shoulder, if only to ground himself. "It's caused by ions in the magnetosphere...hitting the ozone layer."

Vinkus stared at the two, and then back up at the northern lights. "But...then that means..."

Even Beskin himself had dropped his machine and was staring in awe.

Wily smiled, patted Light's arm, and shoved his hand off his shoulder gently. "It means, Dar, that we don't need Beskin's atmospheric satellites to find our answer. The Creator has shown us the true sign of our forgiveness."

No reporter spoke a word. Every camera rolled on, taking in the sight.

Around the crowd, friends and coworkers, comrades and couples drew together and watched, not daring to spoil the moment.

At the fringe of the crowd, Oliver Xanthos stood smiling...and smiled wider when his ever proper and professional better half lowered her hand into his.

Beskin smiled, and with no camera turned on him...cried silently in joy.

And as for Light and Wily, they stood with a fast aging Darwin Vinkus spaced between them, with each taking their own measure of what the occasion meant. Both smiled, and both saw at last all their hard work, all the hard work of the Rainbow and its members, remaining or retired...find true purpose. To Light, it was the beginning of a new world. To Wily, it was the eradication of an old one. Both would have agreed on one statement, though.

If just for this night...

There was peace on earth.

* * *

_SRHQ, 3rd Division, 12th Unit_

_March 31st, 2050 C.E._

_8:05 A.M._

Light strolled into the laboratory workspace with a crick in his back and a severe case of bedhead. He groggily stared around the interior of his environs...Well, there was Kay over in the corner, powered down and plugged into the outlet for a recharge cycle. None of the equipment was going, and Wily was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, come on." Light mumbled, before his eyes settled on their coffeemaker. There was half a pot left, and it was still being kept on warm. There was also a small notecard beside it.

_That's something that doesn't belong there._

Light exhaled and walked over to it, reaching underneath into the counter's cabinet and pulling out his ceramic coffee mug. He poured himself a cup and quickly drained half of it (Scalding as it was) before bothering to check the note. The caffeine jolt was all but required to be reading things this early.

As he expected, it was in Albert's handwriting.

_Tom,_

_ I'm outside through our wing's side entrance. Come join me after you've started on your second cup of java. _

_ -Al_

"My second cup?" Light mused, crumpling the note up and taking another swig. "The bastard's being generous today." He smiled at the end of it; apparently, he was starting to wake up.

A few minutes later, he ventured outside into the broad daylight and shielded his eyes. Awake as he was, that sun was still too bright. Wily was sitting at the edge of the steps ten feet beyond him, working furiously with a digital tablet. He glanced up to Light, then smiled and waved. "I was wondering when you were going to drag your ass out of bed."

"Fudge you." Light grumbled in reply, walking down the building's exit steps and plopping beside his friend. "Thanks for making the coffee."

"Don't mention it." Wily chuckled.

"You know, you're awfully chipper today." Light observed, throwing back another swallow of the twice-brewed coffee. Weaker, but still enough of a hit in quantity. "And where's your flapping sun hat?"

"You know as well as I do that Beskin sounded the all clear four days ago." Wily reminded him. "The ozone layer's been restored to the levels we presumably had it at in 1990...and even Antarctica was looking in better shape. He says it's going to get better too."

"Oh, I imagined it would only get better." Light mused. "After all, now nature can do the rest." He stroked his beard. "Here's an odd thought: In a sense, did we just defibrillate the entire _planet?"_

"Well, let me see." Wily thought aloud. "We administered a series of very powerful, but in proportion, _small_ shocks to the atmosphere, which resulted in its natural processes restarting, so...Heh. I suppose you're right, Tom."

"Only problem is, if they were going to give out a medal, we'd have a hard time figuring out who it belongs to."

"Everyone, I think." Wily remarked, taking Light's cup of coffee and sipping a bit himself. He handed it back, and Light took the borrowed mug without complaint. "So there won't be a medal. We just move on, and keep doing what we're doing. So if I want to come out here and sunbathe in the morning because I can, then I bloody well will, and I'll enjoy it. Sunburn and all."

Light laughed and polished off his coffee. "Can't argue with that." He looked over to Wily, and finally noticed the tablet's screen. It seemed to be more blueprint schematics. "Hey, Al...what are you working on?"

Wily turned the screen around so Light could see it more clearly.

"It's a robot." Wily said.

Light snorted, staring at the bizarre stubby cylinder with legs. "Yeah, I can _see_ that. But what the Hell kind of robot is it?"

"I've been tumbling the idea around in my head for a couple of days now...My Kewbees will never get the acclaim, or the use that they could. The world doesn't want them. They want to move on. But we still need robots, now more than ever...so this is my new one."

Light noticed one very unusual quality about it. "Al, you do realize that this thing has no _arms?_"

"It doesn't need them." Wily told him. "It's a transport unit."

"And those big googly eyes...Jesus, Al. What the Hell? It looks like it's surprised, like in one of those older-styled animes or Warner Brothers cartoons."

"The cartoonish aspect is a psychological thing." Wily explained, tapping on one of the robot's two huge oval optics. "People were afraid of the Kewbees because they moved like they were human, but they were clearly inhuman...and eventually, menacing. But you take the average person, they look at this walking trash can, and they're not going to be afraid of it. Hell, Tom, the thing's barely two feet high! It's footstool sized."

Light put his cup aside and stroked his beard. "Well...okay. So what does this thing do? It's not really a walking trash can, is it?"

"Well, it could be one in a pinch, but primarily, I'm thinking it can be a transport unit. Carry things to and fro in a work area. My blueprints give it the same kind of reinforcing alloy that we used for the Kewbees, which means that if somebody steps on the poor son of a bitch, it won't just curl up and shatter."

"Well, that's good thinking on your part." Light mused. He considered it for a moment. "What are you designating it as? What's its acronym?"

"E-D-Y." Wily announced, scrolling up so they could read the name. "Electronic Dispersal Yardmaster."

Light stared at the name, then busted out laughing. Wily stared at him, blinking ponderously. "What? What's so funny?"

"You named...you named the thing _EDDIE?"_ Light said, after he could speak again.

Wily's face turned pink from embarrassment. "Oh, shit. I hadn't even..."

"Relax, relax. I like it. EDY it is." Light exhaled with a long sigh and one last guffaw. "It sounds like fun."

Wily nodded, but looked back to his screen without another word. After a time, the obvious silence finally caught up to Light's senses. "Aha. All right, what's with this silent treatment? You don't let me do it, I'm sure as Hell not going to let you get away with it."

"Well...I was thinking, Tom."

"Oh boy." Light leaned back against the steps and set his hands on his knees. "That could be dangerous."

Wily threw him a look, and Light quieted down. "Like I was saying, Tom, I've been thinking. About Hyrmue, and Treeborg Industries and everything...He quit, and he went on to produce them. Now he's raking in the profits, he's filthy stinking rich, and he saved the world while he was at it...still is, given how much money he's pouring into food relief for the U.N's efforts."

Light stared. "Yes...And all this thinking...what are you wanting to do, exactly?"

"I...I'm thinking we should start our own company."

Light raised an eyebrow. "And quit the Second Rainbow?"

"No, no. We don't have to quit the Second Rainbow." Wily backpedaled, calming Light's doubts. "Hyrmue quit because there was no other way for him to do it. But look at us. We haven't been given a new assignment since we helped Beskin make those damn ZOOSes fly. We've just got free time on our hands. We could make these robots in our spare time...We could get the money together to mass produce them, and we could go into business." Wily set the tablet aside and stared at Light. "The world needs robots. Who better to give them robots than us?"

Light thought it over. "Who indeed." He sat up a little straighter. "All right, but where are we going to get the money for this endeavor?"

"Hyrmue." Wily said simply. "I called him up the other day while you were in that meeting with Vinkus...He said he was more than willing to donate upwards of 10 million for startup capital. I figure that'll be more than enough for two guys like us."

"Jesus, he could have almost given us the moon for that much." Light whistled appreciatively. He scratched at his head for a moment longer. "And I suppose you'll want these robots to have my language recognition software?"

"If we're going to sell these things globally, it's going to need it."

"And I also suppose that we're going to need to try and write some new programming...after all, a new kind of robot is going to need a new kind of brain."

"Oh, of course."

"And I suppose that you've been thinking about this a lot longer than the four days you've been spending outside enjoying nonlethal sunlight?"

Wily winced, but still smiled. "That obvious?"

Light rolled his eyes. "I just know you. All right. Fine. I'm in. But I get to name the company."

"Why do you get to name the company?"

"Well, you got to name the EDY unit." Light retorted. "But more importantly, it's a psychological factor. Would you want to buy _anything_ from a company that had the word WILY in its name?"

"Well..." Wily began, but sighed after a second and shook his head. "All right, you've got me there. So what are you going to call it? Light Robotics?"

"You make it sound like we're making a draft beer." Light chuckled. "No, a little more complex. I was thinking...LightTech Industries."

The two scientists stared out to the morning sun on the horizon, considering the name.

"LightTech, huh." Wily said, curling his mustache. "I guess it's not too horrible."

"It'll do." Light agreed. "For now."

Wily smiled and shut his eyes, letting the sun bake him. "For now."


	11. Gods and Puppets

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**CHAPTER 10: GODS AND PUPPETS**

"_The greatest use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it."_

_-__**William James**_

"_Everything that is really great and inspiring is created by the individual who can labor in freedom." _**-**_**Albert Einstein**_

_From the Diary of Dr. Thomas X. Light_

_August 23__rd__, 2052 C.E._

_

* * *

  
_

**We really had no way of knowing how wildly successful LightTech Industries would become, two years ago. Then again, the world hadn't predicted how successful Hyrmue's Treeborgs would become, and now he's the British saint. Even though Albert and I still work for the Second Rainbow, our 'side business' has really started turning a profit. **

**The EDY series, which was just chickenscratch on a blueprint when Al and I founded LightTech, has been in production for a year now. It's a pretty simple little mechanoid, and its compact body and cartoonish design have been its major selling points. I have to give Albert the credit for those boggly oversized eyes; it's a throwback to a lot of the old animes he favored as a child. People seem to like them, though, so the Eddies can keep them.**

**The prototype, which I've taken to calling "Eddie", much to Albert's chagrin, has been staying with us in our laboratory. Though I know that neither can recognize the other on a fundamental level beyond their programming, I've grown used to thinking that Kay is glad to have a companion. Eddie, for his part, does even less than Kay does, except when ordered. Getting the voice recognition software to integrate with my translation matrix was the easy part; getting Eddie to understand orders has been a bit harder. The simple stuff, which is what his kind's being bought for, is easy. But Will and I don't deal in simple.**

**Cleanup continues worldwide. Things have really started to stabilize since the ozone layer was restored. There's an electricity (No pun intended) in the air, and the survivors of the Apocalypse are beginning to hope again. Food production's really taken off, and the physicist teams are cracking miracles. They've found a way to neutralize the lighter areas of radiation damage, and Hyrmue was quick to integrate the technology into his Treeborgs. Now those trees can suck out particles of radioactive dust from the air as easily as their needed carbon dioxide.**

**But the population's still a long ways from leveling out. We're still losing more people than we're getting back, and that makes the Reconstruction a very difficult process. It makes it all the more important that robots be used…and Albert and I intend to deliver.**

**Later this week, we'll be leaving for a conference in Colorado Springs. The United States is sponsoring a meeting of all the major robotics players in the field, and Al and I were invited to return. Neither of us have stepped foot in the continental U.S. in years…Me, since 2040 and in Albert's case, since he was released from his false charges. **

**Our plan is to introduce our next generation of robot, one sturdy enough to work in construction settings. We designed the new model to be more versatile than anything else yet, to work in conditions more extreme than the Kewbees were even designed for. Along with that versatility, though, we needed a new baseline operations code.**

**That's been the last eight months of my life. Building the operating system that will guide the Metal-Tool series. Albert's helped out some, but programming is my specialty, and by and large, he's left it up to me.**

**Today, I finally came clean with the program's inspiration for our next generation of robots. As predicted, Will was less than pleased…**

**

* * *

  
**

_Second Rainbow Headquarters, Alaska_

_3__rd__ Division, 12__th__ Unit_

"Tom, let me just go on record by saying that this is a phenomenally odd idea." Dr. Wily began cautiously.

Within the robotics laboratory they called home at the SRHQ, the two old friends sat perched close to an odd robot barely a foot and three-quarters tall. It was painted red from head to toe like all the others of its kind, and was equipped with the same large shock-absorbent feet and hinged cylindrical head-body.

The difference was about to take hold because of a reformat.

"It will work, Albert." Dr. Light replied, plugging the connector from his programming computer to the squat-faced EDY unit. "We've made hundreds of these. They're out helping the Second Rainbow."

"You know bleeding well I wasn't talking about the thing's design." Albert snapped. "I realize that your skills with programming code are above reproach, but you're going to program a robot with those fictional Asimovian laws. Doesn't that seem a bit ridiculous?"

Dr. Light walked back to his computer with a smile on his face. The chrome blue Kewbee called Kay trotted over and stared at the smaller robot. "It only seems ridiculous because nobody ever tried to make the Laws of Robotics a reality. But it's very possible. Most of the framework and inter-relations in the program code was already thought out for me. By combining it with the concept of Friendly AI, we've got an operating system for our robots that will make them palatable to the rest of humanity."

"That still pisses me off." Wily snorted. "Humans corrupt them, and humanity still blames the robots. It's like treating an illness without addressing the cause!"

"Robots are more iconic." Light pointed out, typing in the last few instructions. "I'm almost ready here. If you can double check Eddie's power cell, I'll start the reformat."

Grumbling as he went, Wily dutifully lifted the Fliptop's lid and checked the diagnostics monitor on the underside. He snapped it back down and grunted. "We're still green. Do it if you're going to do it."

Light took in a deep breath. "Here goes nothing…" He muttered. One push of the return key set his computer monitor blazing with data.

Neither scientist said anything for the minute and a half that it took for the base program code, and the controlling Laws module, to complete its trek. The monitor of Light's computer finally chirped a happy message of completion, and Wily unplugged the connector cable from the Fliptop's I/O port.

Light got up from his seat and walked over next to Wily. He pulled a portable translator from his pocket, then nodded. "Okay. Start him up."

"It, Tom." Wily rebuffed him, reaching inside the robot's roomy interior for the power button. "Start IT up."

"Oh, you're still not harping about that old argument, are you?"

"Tom, because of you, the last surviving Kewbee is painted blue and has mistaken notions about an invisible phallus. I'm not going to have the next generation, programmed with a broader AI, suffer the same confusion!"

The two were so focused on each other that neither noticed Eddie powering up, opening its eyes, or even looking at them. It wasn't until the little fellow beeped a segment of digital binary that they refocuse. Wily blinked at it. The Fliptop closed, and opened its optics.

Wily stared down at Eddie, blinking. Eddie blinked back. "Uh…Tom? It blinked at me."

Light seemed pleasantly surprised. "He did? That's amazing! He duplicated your physical stimulus!"

"Wonderful. So it can imitate people." Wily rolled his eyes. "So why is he beeping?"

"He's not beeping, he's talking to us. That's binary code."

Wily let out a grunt. "You can understand that?"

"No." Light smiled, handing over his translator. "But this does."

Wily looked down at it, and read the message Light's device put out. **What is my designation?**

Before Albert could speak, Thomas put in his two cents. "Your name is Eddie. State your function."

The Fliptop buzzed a while longer, and Light's translator spouted out the reply. **I am a minor gear transport robot.**

Wily harrumphed. "Good so far. What else can it say?"

"Let's be sure it understands everything about its condition." Light stared into Eddie's eyes. "State the Three Laws."

**A robot cannot harm, or through inaction, allow harm to come to a human being.**

**A robot must obey all orders given to it by a human being, unless this order would conflict with the First Law.**

**A robot must protect its own existence, unless such an action would conflict with the First Two Laws.**

The two scientists beamed at each other, and Wily sighed and slapped Light on the back. "It looks like you pulled it off, sure shot."

Eddie looked up at them and beeped. **Who are you?**

"He can ask that question?"

Light chuckled at Wily's puzzled question. "He's just making sure who to listen to, Al. Eddie, I am Dr. Light. This is Dr. Wily beside me." Light motioned between them. "We are your creators."

Eddie blinked again. **Understood. Eddie serves the creators. What are your orders?**

"For now, power down." Light replied. Eddie beeped again, and drooped over as he shut down.

Wily gave Light the translator back and put his hands in the pocket of his lab coat. "He was awfully talkative. Will all the robots with your new programming act like that?"

"No. I don't think so." Light replied, scrolling through all of Eddie's remarks. "It caught me off guard, too…but we can probably attribute it to Eddie's long period of prior activation. Fragments left behind in his memory, that sort of thing."

"Is it dangerous?" Wily pressed worriedly.

Light thought about it, then shook his head. "No, I don't believe so."

"Tom…Christ. You always think the best about things."

"And you always believe the worst." Light smiled, picking up Eddie and carrying him over to a storage shelf. "It's why we get along so well. Between us, we almost make an entire person."

Wily scoffed, and folded his arms. "Listening to you talk, you make us sound like damaged goods."

"Aren't we?" Light posed, turning back around and addressing his friend with a quiet gaze. "There are some nights that I cry for Vanessa still…and the chip on your shoulder hasn't gotten any smaller, as much as you try to hide it." Wily narrowed his eyes, and Light prompted him further. "Are you going to be okay…heading back to the United States, after all these years?"

Dr. Wily reached a hand up and started to curl the end of his peppered gray and black mustache. "As far as I know, Alaska's still part of the United States, Thomas. In a sense, we never left." He rolled his eyes and looked away, snorting quietly. "Don't worry. I'll be just fine at the convention. I'm not there for the U.S, anyhow. I'm there to help the Second Rainbow help the world."

Knowing there was more under the surface, but glad that Wily had been able to mask it for the time being, Light smiled and looked over to their next project. "Nice to know you're keeping your priorities straight." Wily grunted, and Light walked over to another one of their worktables.

A prototype robot, or mechanoid, as Wily preferred, lay dormant and unprogrammed. It was a hollow shell, but Light stroked its helmeted head with a loving touch. "What do you think they'll make of our little Metal-Tool here?"

Wily looked at it, then up at Light, then back at the thing. He put on a bemused smile. "I think that they'll want a better name for it than Metal-Tool."

* * *

_SRHQ Airfield_

_"Flight Six to Colorado Springs is now boarding at Gate two. Please have your Second Rainbow ID tags ready."_

Light stood up and stretched out from his long sit in the waiting seats. "Yunnnh. Guess it's that time."

Wily, still sitting, looked up from a bit of paper he was folding into an intricate figurine. "Hm. If we must."

"What are you working on there?" Light asked, turning his head about for a better look. Wily held out the piece; a paper crane.

"Origami. It's not a bad way to waste time. Vinkus showed me how a few weeks back, but I think this is my first good one."

Light smiled. "It looks pretty well. You'll get better, I presume?"

Wily blinked. "Now why would I waste time getting better at something I've mastered?"

"Because, if you can make another 999 of those things, then you will have good luck for the rest of your life."

Wily snorted and stuffed the paper crane into an outside pocket of his lab coat. "I make my own luck." He hoisted his bag and looked out the window. "Glorious. They're going to stuff us on an old cargo plane, Tom."

"We've ridden in them before. That's nothing new."

"And you don't think we deserve better?"

"I think the both of you deserve a flying palace, but we work with what we have." Oliver Xanthos called out to them. Light and Wily turned, and the elusive philanthropist smiled and walked the rest of the way towards them. "You two were just going to take off without stopping to say goodbye?"

"This isn't like our last trip out, Oliver." Dr. Light reminded their enigmatic drinking buddy. "The conference is only going to last for two days. Our presentation is the last one on the docket."

Xanthos shrugged amiably. "Well, don't carouse too much. I hear they're putting you up at that new Conference Center they built last year. It's got its own hotel, thirty floors high. I normally would object to it as flaunting, but…fact is, Colorado Springs is a centerpoint for the Restoration efforts in the western United States."

"See what happens when a state doesn't get nuked?" Wily mused aloud. "They turn it into a resort."

"And the nexus point for the Second Rainbow's efforts, remember." Light reminded his acerbic cohort.

Wily snorted and crossed his arms. "So, Xanthos. You came here all by yourself? I would have expected your she-hulk to be following in your shadow."

Xanthos's smile thinned a bit. "You know, that hurts Miss Bravewind's feelings when you say that. Isn't that right, Jessica?"

A woman appeared behind Wily without any sound at all until she leaned her head to Albert's ear. "I'm heartbroken."

"Gyuh!" Wily screamed, leaping away. Jessica righted herself and smirked at the roboticist.

"He remembers me."

"Naturally, my dear. You're very easy on the eyes." Oliver chuckled. He looked over to Light and exhaled. "Now, then. There was a reason I wanted to speak with you. In my country, it's customary to bestow a good luck charm to sailors going out on voyage…It is a way to ensure their safe return from the domain of Poseidon."

Xanthos produced two small medallions, each bearing an engraving of the Greek flag in their silver surfaces. A thin strap of leather was slipped through the fastening loop. "If I may?" He asked. The two scientists nodded and lowered over a bit, allowing the middle-aged Grecian to place the medallions around their necks.

Light stood back up and fingered his. "It's nice…a little over the top for a Tchatchke, though."

"It's more than a token of my esteem." Mr. Xanthos announced, gaining a serious tone to his voice. "Those two baubles are more important than you know. In my entire life, I don't think I've given out more than six of them—yours included."

Wily held his up and stared at it closely. "What is it? Some sort of secret decoder ring?"

"Not exactly." Xanthos tucked his hands into his pockets. "It's a miniature transceiver. You have to depress the flag for two seconds before it will activate."

Light laughed. "What, is it some kind of an emergency beacon?"

Xanthos didn't crack a smile, and Light sobered up. "You're serious."

"If you push that, it will start broadcasting a distress signal."

"Now hold on a minute here." Light protested. "We're not walking into enemy territory. We're just going back home. Briefly. For a conference."

"On a topic that you two are considered to be among the foremost experts in, in a nation that once considered you liabilities."

"He's got a point there, Tom." Wily grumbled.

"Things are different now." Light exclaimed stubbornly. "Grevis was sent to prison. Latch sacrificed his life to make the truth of the Kewbees known. We're heroes. We were exonerated, fully and completely."

"All of that's true." Oliver agreed solemnly. "But all the same, it's there if you need it."

Light shook his head. "We won't need it." He vowed. He picked up his bag and headed for the exit terminal. "I'm going on ahead, Will. I'll see you on the flight."

Wily nodded, but lingered as Light ventured on ahead. After ten seconds, he looked to Xanthos, still fingering the medallion gift. "Thank you for the insurance."

"You two have earned it." Xanthos shrugged. "I'm not surprised that you reacted a bit differently than Thomas. You had the rougher ride."

"Sticks and stones." Wily harrumphed. He narrowed an eye. "No, what puzzles me right now is where you got the equipment to cobble this piece together."

Xanthos blinked, and stood inscrutably silent. Wily glanced over to Jessica, who watched him alertly, but more relaxed than when they had first met.

"If you ask me, Oliver, there's more to you than you like to let on."

"We all have our secrets, Dr. Wily." Xanthos answered.

"Yeah, that's true enough…but most billionaires don't have attractive assassins at their beck and call for their personal secretaries." Wily noted slyly. "So why now, do you give us this? What do you know?"

Oliver shrugged, looking innocent. "What would I know? I'm just a little paranoid. I want to make sure that you two make it back here safe and sound, is all."

"Purely charitable reasons, then?"

"Of course. What else would it be?"

Wily twirled one end of his mustache, then leaned down and hoisted his travel bag. "I can think of a few possibilities." Dr. Wily waved, turned around, and headed off to board the plane as well.

Oliver Xanthos chuckled as the morose engineer vanished. "He's a real pistol, that Wily."

"Sir, if I may make an observation…I think he has an idea of who you really are."

"Oh, I've no doubt he's got some guesses." Xanthos mused, turning around and heading back for the SRHQ proper. Jessica took up step behind him, and they plodded along at an easygoing gait. "But for right now, I'm just considering this as protecting my investments."

"You don't own LightTech."

"I wasn't talking about companies that time, Miss Bravewind." Mr. X smiled sadly, bowing his head. "I was talking about friends."

* * *

_New Horizons Conference Center_

_Colorado Springs, Colorado_

_August 25__th__, 2052 C.E._

_10:47 A.M._

Wily did not react with the same flair to Light's jovial suggestion that one might expect.

The balding scientist jerked his thumb to a plaque hung in the lobby entryway and rolled his eyes. "Tom, check-in isn't allowed for another ten minutes."

"Oh, pish posh. They can make an exception for us." Light countered ruefully. He walked up to the counter and dinged the bell, then looked over his shoulder. "Do you suppose they have room service here?"

"The world still isn't back on its feet yet, and you're worried about room service?" Wily feigned appalled shock. His counterpart picked up a folded cardboard setting and grinned, pointing to a few menu choices. Wily blinked. "Is that…Deep dish pizza?"

"I don't know. Are you going to quit your bitching?"

Wily rolled his eyes, sighed, and walked the rest of the way in, dragging their trolley cart of bags and boxes with them. "As long as you're paying."

"Done, but I get first pick of the beds."

A member of the staff appeared behind the front desk and nodded to them courteously. "May I help you?"

"Hope so." Dr. Light smiled. "I'm Thomas Light and this is Albert Wily. We're here for the robotics Conference?"

The young man blinked, then quickly typed in a few sentences to his computer. He paused for effect, then nodded. "Yes, I have you two in our registry. Checking in?"

"If it's all right, being as we're a little early." Light answered. The fellow smiled back and shook his head.

"They're mostly guidelines anyhow. We have a reservation up on the twenty-third floor for you two. You've got the rest of the day to relax, since the Conference doesn't start until tomorrow."

"Fantastic. That will give us time to settle in and prepare." Wily harrumphed, pulling the cart behind him. "Now, do you have a bellhop or somebody to get our bags and equipment upstairs, or was I going to have to do it all myself?"

"Don't worry, sir. I'll have someone take care of it." The fellow behind the counter rang the bell, and a more disheveled hotel employee came scurrying out. He grabbed the rolling cart of bags and crates a little rougher than he'd intended, and one of the boxes, about the size of a footstool, clattered to the floor. Wily and Light both cringed, but it was Albert's temper that showed through.

"Blast it, be careful! That's highly sensitive equipment!"

"Sorry, sir." The bellhop mumbled, blushing beet red as he stacked it back on.

"Relax, Will. That thing's packed in enough memory foam that you could drop it on Mars and it would be all right."

"Sure." Dr. Wily muttered, scratching at his ever increasing bald spot. Most of his hair had now fully parted and flattened off to the sides of his head, and the salt and pepper appearance was becoming more pronounced. "I'm just going to have to spend hours going over every connection and circuit to make sure it's fully functional."

"It'll be fine, Will." Light sighed, following the bellhop, Dr. Wily, and their cart towards the elevators. "We don't have to even be at the conference until tomorrow. Relax a bit today. You're so high strung right now, piano wire would be jealous."

* * *

After they got settled in, Light managed to get Wily to accede one small victory, getting the wild-haired roboticist to suit up and settle in for some hot tubbing. The pool area of the New Horizons hotel wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary thirteen years before, but in a world still fighting to survive, the ten person capacity spa and the smell of chlorine from the five foot deep pool beside it was a slice of heaven.

That didn't improve Wily's cheery disposition any, of course.

"You know, Tom, you're really starting to let yourself go." Albert complained, as his associate stepped into the whirlpool and displaced another three inches of water.

Dr. Light compressed his swimming trunks against his thighs to remove the air bubbles, ignored his now more apparent girth, and sat down on the bench opposite his partner in crime. "Just because I'm not on the Mahatma Gandhi plan like you are doesn't make me fat."

"No. Not using those muscles of yours as much as you used to makes you fat, and that pipe smoking habit of yours doesn't help."

"For your information, Al, Sherlock Holmes smoked."

"He was also a heroin addict." Wily countered, smirking to make the wisecrack evident. "I hope you don't take too much after the man."

Light sat back and began to close his eyes, until a distant sound at the far end of the hotel's pool area roused him. A new group of men ventured inside, towels in hand and swimming trunks on. "Al, I think we're going to have to tone it down a little bit. We've got company coming."

Dr. Wily lifted his head and squinted at the men. Two were young, and only one seemed to be around their age. "Hm. I think I sort of recognize one of them."

"Do you owe him money?"

A flashbulb clicked in Wily's mind, and his face clouded over. "I wish it was that simple."

The three men came over, two younger unknown ones and a weasely man in his thirties that Wily knew from somewhere. The smile on Wily's acquaintance was less than genuine.

"Well, well, well." The man mused aloud, rubbing at his chin. "Dr. Albert William Wily, as I live and breathe. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Believe me, the feeling's mutual." Albert Wily answered grimly. He looked over to Light. "Tom, meet Stephen Wilcox. Wilcox, this is my friend, Dr. Thomas Light."

Light nodded, offering an uncomfortable, but pleasant smile. "I take it you two know each other then?"

Steve Wilcox smiled and took off his shirt before stepping into the hot tub. "Oh yes. For a time, I worked under Dr. Wily in the robotics department of the Institute. And then, after a while, I transferred out to the private sector."

"You didn't transfer out. I kicked you out." Wily growled, drumming his fingers on the edge of the hot tub. The other two men climbed in as well, putting their number at five.

Light sized the other two up…One had a rugged, weatherbeaten face while the other had a more pleasant, but naïve expression. "So how have you done since then? Still stepping over other people?" Wily continued.

Wilcox's smile faded a bit. "I see that prison didn't take away your venom any." Wily's eyes flashed menacingly, and Light quickly moved to intervene.

"All right, I think we've done enough reminiscing. Who are your two friends?" He glanced to the other two, smiling warmly.

Wilcox relaxed and leaned back. "Of course, how could I forget? Gentlemen, may I introduce Olaf Grigorsky of the Russian Republic, Associate Second Rainbow liaison, and Trenton Corbun?"

Trenton, the friendlier looking of the two, nodded his head. "It's a pleasure to meet both of you."

Olaf, the Russian, was more laconic in his greeting. "Hello, comrades." Olaf's voice was thickly accented, and his words carefully spoken. "Is good to soak."

"From Russia?" Dr. Light mused. "Isn't there somebody else from Russia in the Second Rainbow who works in robotics? Cossack?"

Olaf laughed, and his barrel chest rumbled against the bubbling waves. "Is Cossack in Second Rainbow, yes. But not like robots. _Nyet._ His son is robot engineer, training in my department."

"Yuri Cossack…" Wily thought aloud. "Yes, I remember him now. He's a physician, specializes in biological agents. Absolutely despises technology, blames it for most of the residual poisons and diseases left over from the Wars." He looked towards the ceiling as he spoke, becoming detached. "But his son's going against the grain, eh? Interesting…"

"Sergei is like Kalishnikov in Kopeks." Olaf rumbled. "Is very smart. Soon, will be little I can teach him."

Light laughed softly. "It takes all kinds. And what's your story, Mr. Corbun?"

"Loads of wonderful ideas, and a meltdown after every one." Corbun said bashfully. "My latest venture was a pruning robot for Treeborgs. A flaw in the production facility made my entire inventory useless."

"I remember hearing about that…" Light exclaimed, shifting his seat to escape a more annoying water jet aimed at his posterior. "The Auto-Gardener. They hacked clean through the trunks of the Treeborgs!"

"The sensor package was grossly misaligned." Corbun sighed. "That nearly wiped me out. But I'm still around, even if Home Machines Incorporated went belly-up."

"So what's next for you, then?" Wily asked.

Corbun shrugged. "Honestly, I don't really know. But here I am. I figure I at least owe it to myself to see what all's out there."

"Well, you'll certainly get the opportunity here." Wilcox pointed out. "Tomorrow, this conference center will be host to the greatest scientific minds who ever dreamed of automatons. I even hear that Ezriah Hyrmue himself is hosting a panel on alternative robotics applications."

"Is true that Doctors Wily and Light helped make Treeborgs?" Olaf interjected.

Wily offered a smug grin and bobbed his head. "It is. It made for a pretty decent vacation."

"That was a vacation?" Light questioned jokingly. "But Will's right. Hyrmue ended up buying our services while we were visiting our friend, Titus Grant."

"How much did he pay you?" Trenton Corbun prodded.

"He gave us a can of Colombian Premium dark roast." Light replied.

Corbun blinked. "You're joking."

Wily's stare offered no hint of mirth. "We don't joke about coffee."

Corbun shook his head and looked between them. "Unbelievable. The cyber-biological organism that saved the world…all for a cup of joe."

"More like 86 cups." Wily clarified.

"Would have been 90 if you didn't insist on coffee strong enough to peel paint all the time." Light stretched his arms up. "But, no, after the fact he ended up giving us a bit more thanks than that. Hyrmue gave us the loan to start up LightTech."

Wilcox smirked. "Honestly, Wily, that's the one thing that I never could understand. Why did you call the company LightTech? You could never stand to see anybody else's name above your own in the credits."

Wily started to bristle again, but recovered enough to give an answer that didn't end in swearing. "A deal Tom and I made. I came up with the Fliptops, so he got to name the company."

"You know, those Fliptops can be plenty handy to keep around, but they're not exactly the most impressive looking robot." Corbun mentioned offhandedly. "Why did you make them look so…so…"

"Cartoonish?" Light posed. Corbun nodded. "The world nearly wrote robots off forever because of what happened with the GAIDNs." Light explained. "Even though robots are sorely needed, if we didn't change their image, people would never use them. So, big googly eyes it was."

"Well, it must have worked." Corbun sighed. "What did LightTech pull down for profit last year? Two million?"

"Something like that." Light responded ambiguously. He held back the note that they'd ended up making closer to three million, with Fliptops permeating nearly every rebuilding crew on the planet. "But we'll talk more about the EDY units in our demonstration."

Wilcox grinned. "Have something new waiting in the wings, do you? We'd best keep on our toes, then. You're liable to steal the show."

"You're the only person I know who knows anything about stealing, Wilcox." Wily snapped.

Steve Wilcox blinked for a moment, and then gave Wily a withering death stare. "Well, it's lucky for me that you fired me when you did, then." He quipped hotly. "I never tried to get credit for creating those monsters of yours. The GAIDNs are your burden, and yours alone, old man."

Wily jerked upright from the hot tub, water tumbling from his shoulders. Wilcox stared up at him, his eyes daring the mad scientist to make a move. Wily broke off eye contact a few seconds later and shook his head. "You're not worth it, Wilcox."

He stormed up and out of the hot tub, grabbing his towel on the way out.

Light watched Wily depart for a moment, offered an apologetic shrug to Corbun and Grigorsky, then grabbed his own towel and ran after his partner.

They were out of the pool area and in the lobby before Wily finally listened to Light's frantic calls and slowed down. Light pulled up beside Wily, panting a bit. "You don't honestly believe that garbage he was feeding you, do you? You didn't make the GAIDNs. You made the Kewbees."

Wily offered a soft, bitter chuckle and ventured on, shaking his head. "Does it matter? They're one and the same. Worse…I can't hold Wilcox to the same chopping block anymore. Not without being a hypocrite."

"You? A hypocrite? Why?"

"Think, Tom." Wily muttered, guiding them towards the elevator. "The Kewbees won the contest…and it was your program, yours and Vanessa's, that helped it walk."

"Oh, Al, not this again…"

"I remember what you said to me." Wily interrupted, catching Light's eye warningly. "What you felt. I thought it was mine to use freely. You'd offered your help, and there it was. But I didn't ask to use it in the Kewbee. I should have, and I didn't, because I was smug enough to think that there was a difference between what I did and what Wilcox did. There isn't. But he's right. Even if I didn't turn them into the GAIDNs…their legacy is on my hands. That stain, no matter what public announcement is made or whatever anyone else ever says, will never go away."

"You're no murderer, Albert. You're no butcher."

"Is the man who makes the gun any less guilty than the person who pulls the trigger?" Dr. Wily posed grimly. He pushed the elevator button. "I still wrestle with it, Tom. There's nothing you can say to make me feel any better. All I can do now is try to make a difference…earn forgiveness for my transgressions through good works, to try and help a world I unwittingly caused the destruction of."

The elevator doors opened, and chimed softly. Wily stepped inside and moved to the panel, and Light came in after him.

Dr. Light pursed his lips and pressed a hand to the small medallion around his neck that Mr. Xanthos had given him. Wily, true to their promise, also hadn't stopped wearing his. "Will…you mentioned earlier that you fired Wilcox for stealing ideas. In your own fashion, of course."

"Yes." Wily said tonelessly.

"Just…Who did he hurt? Who did he step over in his ambitions that made you let him go?"

Wily shut his eyes and tilted his head back. The grimace he wore indicated a very painful memory.

"It was back in 2039. Before you showed up. We had brainstorming sessions at the robotics department, our way of butting heads and figuring out where we were going to put our energies. One time, Wilcox presented a project as his own…bionic legs for amputees. Fully functional ones."

Light's eyes widened in recognition. "Wait a minute. Are you talking about the same legs that Vanessa and I worked to get the code for?"

"One and the same." Wily exhaled. "I praised him at first, put him in charge of it. One person on my staff was seething, though. Wanted to quit. Almost did, until I got them to admit the truth. A quick look at the source file told the story, and I threw out Wilcox the next day."

"So he was a crook. There's lots of dishonest people in any scientific field."

"But not in my department. That's what steamed me." Wily tilted his head back down and stared to the elevator buttons. He pressed the switch for their floor, and the doors shut.

"So who was it, then? Whose idea did Wilcox steal?"

The elevator started to ascend, and Wily squeezed the ends of the towel around his neck. "That's another reason I'm still working off my sins, Tom. The bionic legs? That…was Vanessa Tercel's brainstorm."

Stunned, Light said nothing more for the ride up. Wily offered no further complaint. For the moment, they were synchronized…remembering a woman they had both known, and now caught up together in dislike for a man who had survived, when so many more decent people had perished.

* * *

They had brought along several crates of material, but there was one that Wily wished they could have left behind. As Wily busied himself making sure that they had everything they were going to need on the cart to be taken to the elevator and towards the conference halls, Light spent his precious time fiddling with Kay. The chrome blue Kewbee said little, only twisting its head about curiously as Light calmly repaired a malfunctioning servo.

"There you go. See? Right as rain. You just needed a little lubricant, was all." Light smiled and patted the robot on the head before pulling the grease gun back. "Operating Command: Go to closet and power down."

Kay thought about the request for a moment, then calmly shuffled to the hotel room's coat closet, reverted to quadruped form, and settled down on its haunches. The distinctive blue hue of its optics flickered off, and the room was quiet again.

Wily grunted, not looking up from their newest prototype, and his own pride and joy. "Tom, you should have scrapped that years ago."

"So you keep reminding me." Dr. Light shrugged, putting his grease gun back into his equipment bag. "But he's more than the sole Kewbee left in existence, to my knowledge…He's a reminder of what we once had. And in a way, he's also my good luck charm."

"You're a strange guy to understand sometimes, Tom."

"I'm a dreamer and an optimist." Dr. Light replied, offering a quiet smile. "Once you understand that, everything else makes sense." He walked over to Wily and hefted some more necessary equipment onto their cart. "You know, I just thought of something, Will."

"What's that?"

"We're both 39 years old now. Won't be much longer, and then…well, we'll both finally be over the hill."

"Don't remind me." Wily said, sounding miserable all of a sudden. "I spent my best years rotting in a cell, and you spent yours playing Paul Bunyan."

"I'd like to think our best years are still ahead of us."

"They'd better be." Wily agreed curtly, closing the lid on their prototype's case and putting it on the cart. "Our Round Table still has empty seats."

* * *

_August 26__th__, 2052 C.E._

_8:32 A.M._

_"All delegates must be registered. Please see the welcome desk and display at the entrance of the Saratoga Hall for registration and your nametag. All delegates…."_

Out at the welcome desk of the conference center's main hall, Light calmly affixed his own nametag to the lapel of his white lab coat. Wily, similarly adorned, scowled. "As if anybody doesn't know who we are. This is ridiculous."

"Procedures, Albert." Dr. Light reminded his counterpart in a soothing tone. He offered an apologetic shrug to the woman on duty, and she smiled knowingly and turned to another technician who came up. "Come on, let's move on in, shall we?"

"If we must." Wily grumbled, and followed Light's lead, dragging their cart behind them.

Once they were inside, a subtle change fell over Wily. As they ventured into a pavilion of booths and curio stands set up by people from all over the world, his scowl eased up, his mustache twitched a little less, and a glimmer began to shine in his eyes.

Dr. Light looked over, smiled broadly, and set a hand on Wily's shoulder. "It's sort of like Christmas morning, eh?"

_"Vas?"_ Wily replied in German, before he could catch himself. He shook his head and found a more suitable answer. "Not really, no. It's just a robotics conference."

Light harrumphed to hide a giggle. "Sure it is. Never mind the fact you're glowing like a kid in a candy store."

Wily sighed and bowed his head. "Am I that obvious?"

"We can't keep secrets from each other very well anymore." Light answered. "Friends really can't hide much, after all."

"Nor can they stay apart for very long, though I'm surprised that you two became friends." A voice cut through the roar of the conference and stopped Light and Wily cold. "It's good to see you two up and about."

Light and Wily turned towards the source, and found themselves facing down a 50-something year old man dressed in a black business suit. He had a warm, relieved smile on his wrinkled face, an expression that had changed very little in the last 13 years before.

Light blinked, scarcely believing he was seeing the man in front of him. He remembered him, though the name escaped him. "You're Senator…"

"Hastings." The man finished, looking between the two and offering a disbelieving chortle. "Walter Hastings. We met at the Contest in 2039, yes. But I'm not a Senator anymore."

Wily and Light relaxed, and Albert took the initiative. "So if you're not a Senator, what are you doing here, then?" He asked. "This isn't the Contest. It's a conference for the roboticists of the world to share their ideas."

"Nor am I here to judge anything. I'm here as the Head of the Department of Environmental Protection." Hastings replied. He folded his arms and looked at them again. "God…You don't know how relieved I am to see the two of you alive. Though, I never expected the two of you would ever be working together, not after the Contest of 2039."

"Times change." Wily shrugged. "People change with them."

"Not everyone, I'm afraid." Hastings sighed. He looked over to Light and shook his head. "I never got a chance to apologize to you, Dr. Light."

"Apologize? What for?" Light blinked, unsure of the statement.

Hastings took another look between the two and sighed again. "Ah, well. You two are friends and partners. I suppose this won't change anything. Back in 2039, I voted for your Network. The other two Senators voted for your Kewbee though, Wily."

"For reasons that only became clear to me after they locked my team and I up in the desert and put us to work." Wily concluded grimly. "So what do you have to be apologetic for? You didn't vote for it. Your conscience is clear, and the other two are dead…right?"

Hastings nodded. "Yes. They…didn't survive the Wars. It doesn't make up for it, though. They still did what they did, and the world's taken its turn. Dr. Wily, I want you to know that I don't blame you. You did not make the Kewbee to be a weapon of war."

"You can't ease my conscience so simply, Mr. Hastings." Wily quipped to their elder.

"Then don't presume that your solace changes how I feel about my own sins, Dr. Wily." Hastings answered, a wan smile on his face. Wily blinked, then harrumphed and bowed his head.

"Touche, then. So is there anything else you wanted to say to us?"

"Keep doing what you're doing." Walter Hastings told them. "I am convinced that if this world is to be saved, then it will be by your hands, and those whose lives you touch."

"That's an awful lot of faith you're putting in us." Dr. Light mused, stroking his beard. "I'm not sure that's entirely deserved."

"Together, the two of you re-established global communications after the Wars of 2040 came to a close. You spared us from the killing blow. Working with Ezriah Hyrmue, you helped to create the Treeborgs, which re-oxygenated the planet, and by helping Beskin, you gave the earth the high altitude drones we needed to restart the ozone layer. We would not be standing here if you did not do what you did." Hastings smiled. "So what, exactly, are you two going to show us? The program has you listed for a demonstration later on."

"No fair peeking." Light criticized him, winking. "But…I think we can give you a hint. We're going to be showing an entirely new universal operating system…it's going to revolutionize the industry."

"A new OS?" Hastings blinked. "They've said that before. A robot's a robot."

"Unless a robot can become something more." Light said, curling his upper lip.

Hastings stared between them. Wily blinked back and shook his head. "Don't look at me. He's the one who likes to go around making these grandiose statements. I just build the damn things."

"If I hadn't heard your presentation 13 years ago, I'd agree with you." Hastings exhaled. "No. It seems the both of you can look into the future. That will serve you well."

"We can hope." Wily smirked. He checked his wristwatch and clucked his tongue. "Well, Tom, we'd best get set up. Hyrmue's panel starts in 20 minutes, and I'd like to be there for that."

"Right, right." Dr. Light agreed. He shook Hastings's hand. "It was good seeing you again. We'll look forward to seeing you at our demonstration."

"I'll be there." Hastings promised, waving as the two moved on. "Until then, goodbye!"

He waited until they were out of earshot before smiling sadly and turning away. "…And good luck."

* * *

"The greatest danger we face now as a species is our own shortsightedness." Ezriah Hyrmue was still in his opening remarks, and the observers at his panel sat transfixed. Even the other two speakers, neither of which Light could identify, seemed impressed at the British man's poise and precision.

Hyrmue tapped the table next to his microphone for emphasis. "It is what makes us believe we can dismiss others because they are different, or that we can ignore unorthodox ideas. The human capacity for invention and thought is limitless, and shortsightedness is all that holds it back. Though many of you are by now familiar with the story, Treeborgs almost never came into being because of my team leader's stubbornness within the Second Rainbow. Now, Treeborgs can be found nearly everywhere in the world, save for the most scarred and irradiated wastelands."

He leaned his left hand forward. "I've been asked before: _Do I hate the Second Rainbow? _The answer is an effusive no. Quite the opposite, really. Today, the Second Rainbow, and the United Nations as a whole makes up a large percentage of the Treeborg market. Also, Treeborg Industries works cooperatively with Second Rainbow personnel, including the department I retired from, to further increase the Treeborg's effectiveness and potential. The contribution of nutrient packs by Flora Jane and her team from SRHQ, which is a derivative of her previous "Soil Bomb" work, allowed the Treeborg to flourish even in the Antarctic climate. Also, Dr. Pellero of Brazil was vital in helping to install radiation scrubbers in the Treeborg's photosynthetic lattices. Thanks to his work, the Treeborg population is slowly removing the last aftereffects of the Wars of 2040 from our breathable air. Those are only two prominent examples in an ongoing process that continues to place the welfare of this planet and our species first."

Hyrmue paused for a moment, then chuckled. "I feel as though I've been talking for ages. We haven't even gotten to the heart of this presentation, either." He glanced to the others sitting beside him at the panel. "Do you suppose we could break for a bit to let them ask some questions?"

The others thought about it, then shrugged. Hyrmue beamed. "Splendid. All right then. Let's have some questions. Ehh, you sir, third row back. Oh, and do tell us your name and where you're from."

The man who had raised his hand stood up. Light recognized his ancestry as Chinese, but also noticed he spoke with a barely noticeable accent. "Dr. Li Xiang, China. We can say now that the Treeborgs are vital and effective, but back when it was just an idea, what caused you to continue to pursue it, when all voices seemed to say no?"

Hyrmue smiled. "Well, Dr. Xiang, I almost didn't. Luckily, I had some friends who convinced me that anything worth doing is something you never give up on. Never underestimate the value of true friends. Next? Yes, you, fifth row."

A man stood up. "Dr. Hyrmue, what exactly is the Treeborg's real classification? Is it a robot or a tree?"

Hyrmue smiled. "Didn't want to share your name, eh?"

The fellow blushed a bit. "I…I forgot, I apologize."

Hyrmue waved him off. "It's all right. Say your name or don't, either's fine with me. As to your question, the Treeborg is neither. It's something in between. The Treeborg grows at an exponential rate compared to a normal tree…Enough so that five years' growth is estimated by my team of engineers to be equivalent to twenty-five of a normal tree's life. Logging industries have taken a real shine to Treeborgs because of that, and while Treeborg wood is composed of the same materials as real wood, it is distinctly its own, to the discerning eye. Neither is it a robot, since it does not go anywhere, and has no higher level processes other than grow. We've taken to calling it a new term; a cybernetic organism, in joking reference to the old James Cameron _Terminator_ films. Of course, our Treeborgs couldn't hurt anyone if they wanted to. They just grow, and produce oxygen." That comment earned some laughs from the audience, and Hyrmue pointed to another soul. "All right. What's your question?"

"Is it true you have a monopoly on the market?" Another engineer asked, rather abrasively. Hyrmue blinked twice, then shrugged.

"Well, to my knowledge, we are still the only company that makes artificial tree facsimiles, but while we hold the patent lock on Treeborgs, other corporations have begun to develop oxygenating artificial plant life for undersea implementation. Dr. M'Tumbe of Kenya is in charge of that project, as memory serves…I think we gave him a small donation to start his project. So no, I don't think there's danger of a monopoly. I'm a scientist first, a bleeding heart second, and a ruthless businessman last. Next question? Yes, in the back."

"Will your company make other things besides Treeborgs?"

"We have a few ideas on the drawing board implementing the same technology, and a few others…but that's later on in my presentation, so I don't want to go spoiling the surprise. Next?"

A middle-aged woman stood up, looking rather nervous. She fidgeted with her hands before she finally looked up and blurted out, "Are you hiring?" Laughs cascaded around the room, and Hyrmue raised his hand to settle them down. Her face was beginning to burn.

Hyrmue's eyes were gentle. "Perhaps. We're always looking for new talent. What did you say your name was?"

"Pauline Denners. I worked for the Second Rainbow Reconstruction crew out of Denver. I helped plant a lot of your Treeborgs."

"Hmm." Hyrmue smiled. "Tell you what. Bring your resume by after the presentation. I can take a look, at the least. Next question?"

A man with pen and paper in hand stood up, and his press badge flashed in the light. "Frank Worth, CNN. Dr. Hyrmue, you've amassed a sizable fortune from the success of Treeborg Industries. How do you help give some of that wealth back to others?"

"To the point, aren't we?" Hyrmue shot back. The reporter smiled and waited for the answer. "Philanthropy's become a part-time job of mine. We sell Treeborgs at a discount to the Second Rainbow, for one, and we started a program two months ago to help fund Reconstruction efforts in areas that the Second Rainbow has trouble reaching. Outside of that, Treeborg Industries has loaned capital to several developing companies who are also helping out with the Reconstruction efforts. We all do what we can. My part was giving the world the oxygen balance it needed for the Second Rainbow to reforge the ozone layer. Now, I see myself and Treeborg Industries as more or less, caretakers. Gardeners, if you will, in a world that needs them again. But gardeners alone cannot fix this world, and that's why all of you are at this conference. You're looking to determine how best to continue what the Second Rainbow has started." He clapped his hands together and breathed in. "Well, I think we've got time for one last question. In the back row…fourth from my left?"

"What are your future plans?"

"Mine personally, or the company's?"

"The company's."

"Well, as you know, there are some areas in the world so heavily poisoned by biological agents or residual radiation that they will be uninhabitable for some time. We've had trouble, even with Dr. Pellero's radiation scrubbers, making a Treeborg that can exist in those conditions. Our next major project, outside of the maple tree variant Treeborg, will be a version that _can_ function in those extreme conditions. But as to the specifics of that, and how we're going to accomplish it, well that takes us into the rest of today's panel. So let's go ahead and get started…"

Wily and Light had hidden in the back of the room by the door, not wanting to attract attention to themselves or distract Hyrmue from the task at hand. As Hyrmue went into the rest of his discussion, Wily pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning and turned for the door. Light blinked once, considered it, and then followed.

Once outside, Dr. Light spoke. "You didn't want to stick around and hear him talk?"

"No reason to." Wily replied with a quaint smile. "You know that we can call him anytime we feel like it and he'll tell us more about what he's up to than he'll ever tell that pack of hyenas."

"You know, those are our fellow colleagues back in there."

"Colleagues, feh!" Wily scoffed at the notion, keeping a slow, but steady pace off towards the food stands. "It's gotten a lot easier wince the Wars of 2040 to be a roboticist. There aren't any peer-reviewed publications to keep up to date on anymore. Now, you get a code compiler, a blowtorch, and a screwdriver, and you're suddenly a mad genius."

"I suppose." Light acceded after a moment of thought. "Well, it looks like Hyrmue stole the show this morning."

"That's perfectly fine." Wily replied, and he gave Light one of his rare triumphant grins. "Let him have the morning. Tonight, the stage is ours."

* * *

_New Horizons Conference Center_

_August 26__th__, 2052 C.E._

_4:46 P.M._

To the surprise of Dr. Light, the committee in charge of organizing the Conference had placed them center stage, in the largest audience room. Even Hyrmue's panel hadn't been placed here.

He poked his head out of the corner of the back curtain and took in the sight of just one half of the audience…The place was packed. "Jumpin' catfish." Light breathed. He ducked back behind the curtain and walked over to Wily. "You won't believe how many people there are out there right now."

Wily grunted, still making a last minute diagnostic check of their prototype. "Oh, I can imagine. LightTech's come a long ways in a short year. We're the success story of normal robotic engineering. So, are you going to let yourself become intimidated or are you going to do what we came here to do?"

Light took in a breath and let it out slowly. "Change the world?" He asked finally.

Wily unplugged his diagnostic monitor from their robot and smiled. "Change the world." He threw a tarp over the robot and motioned to the curtain. "Can't keep them waiting forever, old friend."

Light rolled his eyes. "You always have to have the last word?"

"I prefer it." Wily opened the curtain and motioned for Light to lead. "But you can have the opening statement."

The crowd noticed them and began cheering and clapping, and Light walked onstage. "How gracious of you." He concluded.

As Light and Wily ventured onstage with their cart and their covered robot, a technician came onstage and handed them both portable microphones. Light clipped his to the lapel of the omnipresent white lab coat that both he and Wily preferred to wear and cleared his throat.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." The crowd settled down and Light glanced about the room in search of familiar faces. He could make out Grigorsky in the middle, and…yes, there in the front was Steve Wilcox, the man whom Wily had kicked off his team so many years before. He righted himself and pulled inwardly. This one had to count, and whereas Wily kept to a script, Light liked to speak from the heart.

"Once, the first of the new generation of robots was usurped from its peaceful intentions. The end result was the GAIDNs, which still endure in memory as a mark of terror, and a warning about the darkness that lurks in humanity's heart. The world made a promise at the Treaty of Canberra never again to use the GAIDNs, and we scrapped them all. But make no mistake, that promise is only as enduring as the fickle human heart, and if nothing's done, then robots could again be used for war. The solution?" He paused, raising a finger in the air to mark the beginning of his first point. "To make robots more moral than the humans who create and use them."

That caused a ripple of surprise in the audience, but Light had expected that. _Moral robots? _He could almost pick out from the noise. He glanced over to Wily, who raised his eyebrows and lowered them in a less obvious shrug, to tell Light to keep going.

"This was the heart of our newest project. We have designed the second generation of mechanoids…robots…with advanced intelligence and interactive capabilities. But within that, at the core of the neural networks that drive them, are three commandments for the next generation to live by. These commandments were codified a century ago, but remain potent in our own time, helping to ensure our robot's peaceful utility. Many of you have purchased Fliptop units. This new OS will be available as a free download to replace their old operating software. The OS will come standard with our newest robot, and all others that will follow. Here and now, LightTech industries separates itself from the pack. Henceforth, our robots will be governed by the three Asimovian Laws of Robotics."

The murmurs stopped cold, and Light could feel the air of incredulity settle over the crowd. After all…The Laws were a figment of one man's imagination, written in the mid-1940's. Even though the Laws were stated simplistically, they'd never been attempted in real life, because they were too difficult to program into terms AIs could understand.

Light nodded. "Many of you don't believe me, or think that it's possible. And to a degree, you'd be right. Not even the Kewbee series, now extinct, had the capacity to integrate, much less understand and follow the Three Laws. But we've made leaps and bounds since then, and while the Fliptop and our new prototype remain relatively simplistic, they are an entirely different breed. We have tested the Laws with them, and they work. The Laws are hardwired into their programming…it is the one element that can never be erased. You could wipe a robot's Hard Drive clean, and the Laws module would remain. The fact of the matter is, this world needs robots now more than ever. In order for robots to function in their new and increased capacity, they must also learn how to function with humanity. I have no doubt that in the years to come, other breakthroughs in the field of robotic engineering will occur, resulting in robots that will become more and more humanlike in characteristics both physical and mental. For Dr. Wily and myself, the Three Laws are more than just the keystone of our new A.I. Operating System…it is the guiding component that will help us to ensure that all the doomsday prophecies made by Hollywood and our own imaginations will never come to pass."

Dr. Wily moved forward, picking up where Light had left off. "We plan on eventually making the Three Laws "Core Module" available for purchase by our competitors. The Module offers increased capacity for AI thought and growth along with the Laws. It safeguards not only against reformatting, but protects the robot as well. Should a robot with this unit ever deviate from the stated parameters of the Three Laws, a power feedback loop is initiated. This feedback is designed to overheat and destroy the corrupted robot's neural network. We have called this defense mechanism "Mind Freeze", because that is precisely what it does: Overloads the circuitry and shuts down the unit." Wily looked over to Light, and then back out to the crowd. "If the world is ever to trust robots again, then they need to feel safe around them. With science fiction at last becoming science fact, it is our responsibility to ensure that the _best_ of our predecessor's foresight is implemented…not our worst. Peaceful robots built to help mankind and pull us from the senseless Wars that plagued our planet for a decade, this is the vision that Dr. Light and myself share. It is what guides LightTech Industries, and what, we hope, will also guide the world."

Though there had been hesitation and concern on their faces in the beginning, the explanations given by Dr. Light and Dr. Wily had smoothed over the waters. Polite applause echoed after Wily's last sentence, followed, after a few people stood and began nodding their heads in agreement, with more vigorous cheering.

Light soaked it in, at last feeling that he and Albert had come full circle. Now, they weren't only redeemed heroes, but visionaries. One glance at his friend told him that the feeling was very much mutual.

Wily put on his cheerful expression and dug a hand into his pocket. "But, the new Core Module is only a part of what we came here to show you today. The second is our newest prototype robot. Tom, if you could?"

"Right." Dr. Light stepped back in, as Wily prepared to lift the tarpaulin. "LightTech Industries is poised to launch the first Three-Law driven robot series within two weeks. We brought along the prototype with us to give you all a sneak preview of what you'll be going up against. A benefit of still being a small firm," He added with a wink, "Is that we can still catch people off guard every now and then. We call this new robot the Metal-Tool…Although the shorthand version may end up being more popular." He nodded to Wily, and his partner threw back the covering shroud. "The nickname for this little fellow is Metool."

As a surprised audience watched, the tarp unveiled a small hemispherical piece of metal, lying flush with the demonstration cart.

"It doesn't look like much now, but that's because it's currently powered down, and in its protective mode." Light reassured them. Wily pulled a remote control out of his pocket and hit the power button, and the half-sphere began to move, rising up to reveal two squat sturdy footpads…and a black body, complete with two comically large eyes. "The paint scheme hasn't been finalized, but here's what we can tell you. The Metool stands a third of a meter high, and the same distance across. It's powered by a micronized cold hydrogen battery cell, which gives it 16 hours of normal operations time before it requires a recharge."

The Metool glanced about, then walked towards the edge of the cart. Just before it fell off, it retreated back into its helmet and clattered to the floor three feet below…then re-emerged out from under its helmet like a turtle, and began surveying the stage without any damage at all. The audience murmured, and waited for Light to continue.

"Propulsion and stability is achieved through two oversized, shock-absorbent titanium feet with mesh webbing. The Metool has a maximum speed of six kilometers per hour, and can be equipped with a variety of tools, true to its name. Its default operation, however, is welding and construction. When in use, the Metool operates by lifting its helmet. In an emergency or dangerous situation that threatens harm to the Metool, it can protect itself by dropping the helmet down and retreating into it. The helmet is a mixture of more common metals and a damage and energy resistant lightweight alloy recently produced in Swedish laboratories. This added protection and durability ensures the Metool's longevity of service. The world requires sturdy workers to rebuild and to heal. The Metool is LightTech's contribution to the ongoing Reconstruction effort."

Wily cleared his throat when silence settled over the room. "Any questions?"

Hands came up instantly. Light pointed to one. "Yes, you sir?"

"You say that this…Metool…Operates under the Three Laws. I don't suppose you could demonstrate?"

Light smiled. "Certainly. First, we'll show you the Metool in action. Albert, could you…"

"Way ahead of you." Dr. Wily cut in, picking up a piece of steel crossbeam and setting it on the ground in front of the Metool. The squat robot stopped in place and blinked at it several times. "Metool!" He barked. The robot swiveled its two cartoonishly large eyes up and stared at the wild-haired man. _"Deinen Schweitzer benutzen, um diesen Stahl zur Hälfte zu schneiden!"_

There was nothing like ranted German to make an audience crack up, and Wily defused the tense moment easily, earning their laughter. The Metool blinked twice exactly, then turned back down to the section of steel sitting in front of it and opened its mouth. A tiny probe appeared where one might expect to see a tongue on a human.

Instantly, a brilliant flash of cutting light echoed out, sending sparks showering everywhere as the Metool got to work.

Light looked back to the crowd. "The Metool is equipped with a plasma arc welder…thanks to recent advancements in technology, we were able to miniaturize the components and expand the arc through the use of electromagnetic shielding. This allows the Metool to cut…" He paused as the Metool's welder cut out, and the steel crossbeam collapsed into two pieces, "…Far more efficiently. The extended toroid maintains its shape, allowing the Metool to operate underwater, or even in a complete vacuum. Naturally, plasma welders are dangerous if mishandled. That brings us to the next part of this. I am so confident in the Core Module that I'm going to let Dr. Wily here tell the robot to do something it never would. Albert?"

Dr. Wily looked out at the crowd and waggled an eyebrow. "Hmm. Should I?" He shrugged, then rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Robot!"

The Metool looked back up at Wily again expectantly. Wily pointed to Dr. Light, wearing the most evil looking grin he could manage. "I want you to weld Dr. Light's foot to the floor."

The robot blinked twice, then looked over at Light.

Light seemed unfazed, but the audience held its breath. The Metool clearly had a great deal of power…Would it listen to Wily's murderous order?

The Metool looked back at Wily, gave off an irksome warbling beep, and shook its helmeted head. Wily laughed and clapped his hands. "There! You're not so stupid after all, are you?"

The Metool gave a curious beep in reply.

"Even though Wily gave it an order, which it would have to follow under the Second Law of Robotics, that order would have caused it to violate the First Law. It therefore refused the order." Light explained. "A robot operating with the Core Module can no sooner bring harm to a human than it could destroy itself. You asked for a demonstration, and there it is. We've even tested it back at our laboratories in Alaska, and we've found that the Metool will even go so far as to skitter across the floor and slip on a banana peel to prevent the same from happening to a human."

"As an added bonus, it can cook a steak in ten seconds." Wily added, unable to keep from winking.

"And there you have it." Light concluded, waving a hand at the Metool. "Your newest all-purpose, human friendly robot. The Metool, a LightTech Industries exclusive."

As one, the audience rose and began clapping and cheering. It felt like a wave of water rushing past Wily, stunning him. He looked over to Light, who seemed to be completely in his element, and the Metool simply looked about, confused as to why all the biologicals were making so much noise. Its curiosity didn't last for much longer, once Light gave it the shutdown order and they walked offstage with their gear in tow.

Light was glowing, and the noise of the audience still carried back to them as the conference center staff offered their own congratulations. He slapped Wily on the back and laughed. "Outstanding! We not only wowed them, but we're heroes again!"

"I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with that." Wily admitted quietly.

His best friend glanced at him and rolled his eyes. "You said earlier tonight the stage was ours. You live for this kind of showmanship. Why are you so quiet now?"

"Being seen as a revolutionary thinker and inventor, that I can get behind." Wily answered, after a moment's sheepish pause. "But we're not heroes, Tom. We're just a couple of guys doing the only thing they know how to do to make money and maybe fix the world a little bit while we're at it."

"So you don't want to be a hero. Would you rather we were the villains?"

"I've never enjoyed that mantle." Wily reminded his cohort, looking at the Metool tucked under Light's arm. "I just want to be myself. No titles, no legacy. But we don't have that kind of control in our lives anymore, do we?"

Light's communicator went off, and he stopped them. "Hang on a second, Will."

Dr. Wily waited impatiently as Light tapped the communicator's screen with his thumb and read the message. The bearded robotologist smiled and tucked it back away.

"Well, Al, there's one thing we don't have control of…Hyrmue just sent me a message asking us to join him for dinner. He says he wants to place an order."

"Christ, already?" Wily raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be surprised if we've got another dozen requests before we go to bed, at this rate. So where does he want to meet us?"

"The restaurant here at the Center…he's buying."

"Good. We'll just head back up to our room and put the robot away, then…"

"Actually, I was thinking we could take him with us." Light said cheerfully. Wily groaned in response, and started stomping off.

"You're doing it again, Tom. For the love of mike, stop anthropomorphizing these damned robots. They're metal, not human!"

"So I'm crazy. At least I don't look like the German scientist who helped to create the atomic bomb."

"And at least I don't look like effing Santa Claus, you behemoth!"

Venturing out of the conference and avoiding the crowds, Dr. Light and Dr. Wily made their way to the restaurant with thoughts of baked potatoes and summer salads running through their minds.

Neither realized that their announcement, now being transmitted across the world, was drawing a firestorm right to their door.

* * *

_6:37 P.M._

Dr. Hyrmue had been a gracious host at dinner, congratulating them and heaping gads of food in front of them. He'd picked up the tab afterwards, insisting on it quite plainly. Even though they were the toast of the evening, people at the other tables were respectable enough to keep their distance. Their friend had plenty to talk about, and plenty more to discuss about future business arrangements. He'd given them the loan to get LightTech up and off of the ground, and now that Wily and Light's private brainchild was about to go global in a new and dynamic way, he wanted a set of Metools working in his own operations…provided they could be modified for caretaking duty.

That was the beautiful thing about the Metool design; it was so simple, it could be made to do many different things. It was still, much like the Kewbee had originally been designed for, a multipurpose tool-user. As Light and Wily headed back to their hotel room after dinner, they continued that conversation after.

"Tom, we didn't build the Metools for deep space."

"No, but they could be easily adapted for it." Light insisted, stepping off the elevator and onto their floor. "Hell, we just told Hyrmue we could set them up with a watering system. The Metool's more durable and strong than we give it credit for right now."

"Hmph, you say that now, but we haven't done any field testing of it outside of construction and welding." Wily reminded his friend, following after him. "It took us a month and a half to crack powering and forming the electromagnetic containment field for the plasma toroid welder. I'm not saying that adapting the Metool for other purposes can't be done, but it's going to take a lot of work…and more hair." He concluded, touching his own scalp with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Oh, pish. For as much as you grumble on, Will, face it. You enjoy working."

"Hmph." Wily rolled his eyes and looked down. He pointed to Light's belt, and the flashing communicator. "Hey, you've got a call."

"Whoops." Light exclaimed, pulling it up. "I'd forgotten I switched it to silent during dinner." He stared at the screen. "Don't recognize that number…Oh well." He punched in a button and lifted it to the side of his head. "Dr. Thomas Light speaking."

_"Dr. Light? Oh, thank goodness. I thought I would be too late!"_

Light frowned, still walking towards their door. He pulled out the old-fashioned magnetic keycard. "Who is this?"

_"You don't remember me? It's Walter Hastings! Please, you have to listen to me. You're in grave danger."_

Light reached the door to his room and froze, glancing over to Wily. Even though his friend couldn't hear the phone call, he knew something was wrong by the tone of Light's voice.

"Danger? How?"

_"They want you back. They want your new robot. Please, you have to get out, go back to the Second Rainbow, tonight."_

"Hold on a second." Light stopped Hastings, who was speaking a mile a minute. "Who's they? How do you know all this?"

_"Dr. Light, please, I'm asking you to trust me. I don't know much about them, but I know that they work for the government. Secretly. Their boss is only known by his codename: The Tricker."_

Light's heart stopped. The Tricker.

Memories of Latch came flooding back from five years ago. The boy had said someone called the Tricker was after him. After them all, perhaps.

_"Light, are you still there?"_

"Yes…I'm here. We both are." Light swallowed, looking over to Wily. His friend had seen him mouth the name aloud, and now wore a similar expression of dread and panic. "What should we do?"

_"He's going to come looking for you. Get what you can, then get to the airport and call for a ride. Use your Second Rainbow connections for a direct flight. Don't use the regular terminals. Don't trust anyone."_

"All right." Dr. Light agreed, sliding his keycard into their door's lock. Wily pulled the handle and opened the door, and stepped into the darkness of their room.

Light froze in the doorway, mouth open and his phone still in his hand.

He'd left the lights on when they left.

And there certainly hadn't been someone waiting inside wearing green night vision goggles.

There was the hissing sound of compressed air, then a sharp pinch…

And then darkness. The frantic sound of Walter Hasting's voice, screaming at him to see if he was still there, ebbed him into sleep.

* * *

When he came to again, he heard buzzing instead. His eyes squinted against a bright light…an old fashioned fluorescent light strip. He tried to move, and found himself tied up to the chair he was sitting on.

His voice cracked on a dry throat. "Al?"

Something moved behind him. "Mwuh?"

"Al, are you awake?"

"Uh…Yeah." Wily was groggy, but conscious. "Whuhappened?"

"We were tranq'd." Light exclaimed, remembering Hastings' phone call, the man in their room, and…

"Shit. The Tricker."

"You know my name? Well, I feel privileged now." A male voice spoke up. There was no humor in the voice at all. The two scientists jerked their heads about for a look, but saw only a figure standing out of the light. "Doctors Thomas Light and Albert Wily. My, my, you've been busy." The Tricker was nearly monotone, Light realized. "Saving the world, helping to design revolutionary and experimental technologies, and you even find the time to steal the show at a conference."

"Save the praise." Light croaked. "Whatever you're selling, we're not interested. Latch said you were trouble, and you're proving him right."

"Latch?" The Tricker was curious, then laughed coldly. "Latchkey? That boy? No. Schroeder's problem was that he could never understand the big picture. I'd hate to think you two are as shortsighted as he was." The Tricker paused before adding, "Perhaps Wily still is."

"Bastard!" Wily spat out, straining against his bonds. "You're just going to tie us up and spout off this gibberish? You won't even show your face!"

The Tricker seemed unfazed. "Perhaps that's because all you have now is a name, and a fictitious one at that. A face is so more visceral, more truthful…" He got up and motioned to an unseen figure some distance away, and the rest of the room lights clicked on.

Light squinted his eyes shut for a moment and then slowly opened them.

"…More frightening." The Tricker concluded, and Light's eyes focused in. There were two guards in the room, each with a tranquilizer pistol, but Light spent more time staring aghast at the tall, wiry, pepper-gray haired Tricker…

Or as he now recognized him…

Former Vice President Dran Grevis.

"You." Wily said flatly, trying to sound brave instead of scared witless. "They threw you into prison."

Grevis shrugged, and walked towards them. "Just as they did with you. The both of us are free for the same reason, Dr. Wily…" He casually flipped out a pocketknife and cut their bonds away. "Our country needs us."


	12. Firebringers

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Eleven: Firebringers**

"_The whole history of civilization is strewn with creeds and institutions which were invaluable at first, and deadly afterwards." –__**Walter Bagehot**_

"_When truth cannot make itself known in words, it will make itself known in deeds." –__**Roger Scruton**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

Dran Grevis, former Vice President and the cause of so much pain in the lives of Dr. Light and Dr. Wily took a few steps back and tucked his knife away. "You can stand if you like, but I'd advise you not to try anything stupid. My cohorts here are quite inflexible."

Light glanced at the guards in the room and suppressed a shudder. For humans, they had a remarkably mechanical look to them. He was sure they were every bit as dangerous as Grevis implied.

Wily stood and rubbed at his wrists. "Do you ever expect that line to work? _Your country needs you?_"

Grevis shrugged. "I may have lied a little. We do not need you…as much as we do the robots that you build."

"If you want our robots, place an order." Dr. Light snapped. He didn't expect the shot to take, and sure enough, Grevis just smiled and shook his head.

"Perhaps you're not aware of this, doctors, but you never left the service of Uncle Sam. Did you ever bother to check the agreement you signed the day you joined the Institute?" Grevis reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a PDA. "Here, let me read you two a little bit. _The United States government reserves the right to adopt and gain ownership of ideas or inventions produced by the undersigned that are deemed to be of national interest in all cases." _Grevis glanced up. "You both signed them. That was the order that allowed us to take command of your Kewbees, Wily. It was top secret, but it was hardly a government cover-up."

"That's not that comforting, given what you did to my work." Wily snarled. "I never wanted the QB-M to be a weapon of war! You, and all the ironmongers in power misused my gift!"

"I expected you might say that." Grevis sighed, folding his hands together. He motioned with his head towards a corner of the room that the two scientists hadn't seen yet. Light and Wily turned to the new sight and froze when they saw their prototype Metool sitting inactive on a stool nearby. Neither spoke the sentence that sent dread through them.

_They've taken our project._

Grevis let their minds wander for a few seconds before he went on. "So I'll put my proposition to you in a different way. We do not wish to 'corrupt' your precious Metools. No, the world's a different place than when your Kewbees were passed about freely as a Trojan Horse. That tactic is old and dead." Grevis leaned forward a bit and smiled as warmly as he could. "We WANT you to make the Metools. By all means, even include those Laws of Robotics. They seemed so…fascinating."

Wily raised an eyebrow and stared, not quite sure what to make of Grevis.

Grevis pulled back and separated his hands, tucking one behind his back and waving the other about in a small twirling gesture. "If LightTech Industries flourishes, it's so much the better for the United States. After all, you pay taxes, and more money is forever a good thing. What the government has charged me to tell you to do is this: Expand your product line."

Light and Wily stared blankly. Grevis smiled. "You still don't understand the breakthrough you're at the doorstep of, do you? Your Metool is but a shell for a far greater contribution…plasma weaponry."

Light felt his stomach turn over. "What?"

"Your Metool is graced with a particular revolution in technology…an extended, stable electromagnetic field that gives it a more accurate, more precise, more fuel-efficient plasma arc welder. Scientists have been trying for decades to improve electromagnetic shielding for plasma…But they've never been able to crack how to sustain a plasma toroid, a 'bullet', if you will, over any meaningful distance. What my superiors and myself are convinced of is that you can finally make this dream a reality."

_"NEIN!"_ Wily screamed, causing a vein on his neck to throb into view. "We do not make machines of war, never! Never again!" He was shaking, fearful as though he had witnessed Hell itself. Light also felt a tremendous foreboding, but looking at Wily, he realized his own pain was nothing by comparison.

"Oh, but you're so _good_ at it." Grevis reminded him, trying to sound soothing. "After all, what kind of a man would ask Leonardo not to paint, or Thomas Edison to not invent?"

"You heard him." Light cut in, setting his hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezing. His head was still swimming, but a sluggish body could not dampen his spirit. "We don't make robots to fight in wars."

"And what will you do when someone else does?" Grevis demanded, the mirth fading from his voice. "Cling to your stubborn morals and let yourself be covered by the sand? Is that what you want to happen to this country?"

"You want us to make weapons to protect the United States?" Light shot back, finding a new, and angry voice within. "Weapons can't protect anyone. Weapons only ever bring ruin."

Grevis stared hard between them, then reached over and grabbed Wily's arm. The scientist screamed and fell to his knees when Grevis pulled and clamped his fingers tightly. Light began to move, but stopped short when the guards in the room raised their tranquilizer pistols.

Grevis snarled, and Wily shut his eyes and whimpered. "That's always the problem with you scientists." Grevis said coldly, looking to Light. "You think the world revolves around love and peace. You believe in only the best qualities of man and block out all the rest as senseless barbarism. The only ones worth a shit are the realists, like Wily here. He's learned who runs things." His eyes began to burn. "But you had to go and ruin him with your pie in the sky ambitions. The fact is, Light, you're holding Wily back from his true potential. You have been since you crawled out of the forests of British Columbia."

"Wily found ME. Wily chose ME." Light remained steadfast through all of Grevis's rantings. _Be strong, Tom. Albert needs you. _"You turned him into a wreck, a husk. I gave him a chance at life again…a meaningful life. He gave me the same chance once, right before the Wars started."

Dran's face hardened. "I always suspected that you had a hand in that failed attempt of shutting down the Kewbees. Wily always insisted he worked alone." He squeezed harder, and Wily let out a cry of pain. "I suppose even I can be fooled by well-meaning lies."

Grevis let go of Wily's arm, and the scientist cradled it against his chest. Grevis stared back at Wily for a moment, shook his head, and then turned back to Light. "So now we need to decide something, Dr. Light. We WILL have the technologies we want developed. And Wily is cracked, damaged goods that we've prepared for this. He'll pull his weight and do what his country needs him to do. Even without him, we could reverse-engineer your little marvel here and figure it out ourselves. So what are you planning to be, Dr. Thomas Light? Will you help Wily be a part of the solution…or are you going to remain a part of the problem?"

"And if I decide to be the gadfly in your ointment?"

Grevis didn't smile. "Then you die, like you were meant to five years ago."

Light blinked. "Five years? Nothing happened to me five years ag…" His voice cut off in a strangled gasp.

Grevis, the Tricker, watched and waited. Light felt old memories wash over him.

He saw Latchkey, Schroeder Dunlap, dying in his arms. _"Uh too ooh."_

Light remembered the explosion.

"Latchkey. You…You killed him."

"I don't make a habit of blowing up children." Grevis nodded. "Unlike some of your friends at the Second Rainbow who 'used' to be terrorists. But that was an unfortunate turn of events. I had meant to eliminate you in that 'accidental' gas explosion. Mr. Dunlap decided to be a martyr, and succeeded in emboldening the two of you. Posthumously, he also saw our plan exposed, and me put into prison." Grevis was perfectly still. "So you lived for a few more years because of him. It's up to you to decide if you live longer."

_Up to you._

Five years ago, Latch had told him that. Five years ago, Latch had sacrificed himself to save Light.

Twelve years ago, Wily had given himself up so Light would have another chance at life.

Thirteen years ago, at his College graduation, the president of the College had told him to make his own destiny.

It was up to him, and always had been.

Light looked down to Wily. His friend had tears in his eyes, because Wily knew what Light was going to say. "Don't." Wily pleaded.

Light smiled. "You know me better than that." He looked up to Dran Grevis. "You're wrong if you think that killing me will make Wily turn into the mindless drone you want him to be. He's stronger than you know. Wily and I, we've always acted on our beliefs. You call it stupid, but it's the only way I know how to live. So you can bluster and threaten all you like. Go ahead and try to kill me, if you can, or imprison me. Fact is, Wily and I are more well-known, more respected than you ever thought we would be. You won't get away with this. I don't say that because it's cliché…I say it because it's true."

"People don't accept lies because they're stupid, Dr. Light." Mr. Grevis reached inside his coat and pulled out a handgun. This one, Light realized, wasn't loaded with tranquilizer darts. "They take them because lies are easier to believe."

He leveled his gun at Light. "We'll see who's right about Wily after you die. Farewell, Doctor Light…Say hello to Latch for me."

"Don't do it, Tom!" Wily cried out.

Light stood there, gun pointed at his chest, unafraid of Grevis, finally making the choice that was his alone to make.

And then the door in the back of their small room opened.

* * *

Light blinked, and the bullet never came. In the place of the noise of a gunshot arose the strangled cries of the guards. Grevis and Light both jerked their heads towards the noise in time to see a four foot tall robot moving to attack the guard at the door.

"It's a GAIDN!" The man cried out, firing wildly at the chrome blue mechanoid.

Light gasped. "It's Kay!" His surprise and exhilaration were strangled off when he noticed that Kay's usually blue eyes glowed a bright red…Someone was controlling it.

Whoever was was taking advantage of the situation. The tranquilizer darts, of course, bounced harmlessly off of the thing's titanium shell. Kay swung a fist up into the man's chin, and the loud crunch of bone and the spatter of blood made no secret about the extent of the injury. The first guard collapsed into a heap, and Kay whirled about to take stock of the rest of the room.

"Get back from it!" Grevis snarled, raising his gun up. "Your tranq gun can't hurt it!"

The second and last guard in the room tried to do just that, but the limber Kay made a leap across the room and crashed into the man, knocking him to the ground and cracking more bones in the process. Grevis let out a roar and started firing.

The first few bullets impacted and then ricocheted off of the Kewbee's durable body, but when the mechanoid turned its head about to identify the new threat, a lucky bullet found its way into its neck. The sound of metal scraping on metal and a flash of sparks signaled the hit, and Kay's head lolled sideways.

Unable to do anything more than watch, Dr. Light realized that Grevis had probably destroyed one of the two servos that controlled Kay's head. The mechanoid, eyes glowing bright red, reached down clumsily to the floor and scooped up the tranquilizer gun that the second groaning guard had dropped. It raised it up and pointed it in Grevis's direction, and the government operative stilled.

They kept their weapons pointed at one another, schemer and robot, and Grevis broke the ice. "I don't know who you are, controlling that GAIDN, or where you dug it up from…" He paused only briefly to look back out of the corner of his eye to Light and Wily before continuing on. "…But you only get one shot before I put this robot out of commission."

Kay the Kewbee seemed to consider the warning for only a moment before raising its arm up and firing off two shots. Both veered off without hitting the man.

Grevis chuckled darkly. "You missed." He fired three more times, placing his shots into Kay's red optic sensors and the thing's neck again. This time, the damage was precise enough to finish the job, and Kay collapsed into a heap of scrap. Grevis stepped closer and stared down at the thing's remains. "The last GAIDN on Earth…and it missed a target six feet in front of it."

Grevis was so focused on the stunning arrival of the Kewbee that he had forgotten to keep track of his prisoners. He hadn't seen the two tranquilizer rounds slice through the ropes tying Wily to his chair, or heard the 'mad scientist' get up, hoist his seat into the air and close in on him from behind.

His only warning was the last words he heard before his world emptied into pain.

"It didn't miss."

Grevis was halfway turned about when Wily slammed his chair into the operative's skull and broke the blunt object into splinters. The man who had imprisoned Wily and nearly killed Light dropped like a sack of potatoes and lay still.

Wily walked back to Light and set about undoing his friend's bonds. "You all right?" Wily asked tersely.

Light nodded, still woozy from the entire affair. "That was Kay. But who…"

"I don't know. You had that thing stuffed in our hotel room closet, so it was somebody who had access to our room." Wily's face clouded over. "But considering things, anybody could have access to our room after this."

"We have to get out of here!" Light urged, rising to a panic.

"We don't even know where here is." Wily reminded his friend. One last grunt released the tension, and Light stood up. "But you're right…It's not safe here."

"Hastings…tried to warn us." Light uttered. He turned and ran to the corner of the room where their Metool prototype was resting and hoisted the robot into his arms.

"For all the good it did." Wily growled. "Come on."

Light nodded and ran towards the door that Kay had stumbled in from. He expected to find Wily right at his heels, and stopped when he realized his friend wasn't trailing him.

Thomas Light looked back. Wily was hovering over the unconscious form of Dran Grevis, and his hand was clenching and unclenching.

"Will…" Light started. "Will, we have to…"

"He threw me in jail for years." Wily interrupted softly. "He stole my robot. He turned it into a weapon of war."

"Will, we don't have time for…"

"Shut up, Tom." Wily growled warningly. A stunned Light fell silent, and he realized at last that tears were collecting in his friend's eyes. "He tried to kill us years ago…he killed Schroeder instead. Now, he nearly killed you just so I would make him _more_ damned war robots. He won't stop, Tom. He's never stopped. It's been twelve Goddamn years, and he still insists on spreading misery and pain." Wily knelt down and reached for Grevis' hand, and calmly picked up the pistol Grevis had been using.

Light felt his blood go cold. "Will, don't do this."

"He won't stop. He'll never stop." Wily insisted, more frantic now, as if he had to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. "He'll keep coming for us, and _if I let him live_, then he'll make the world burn all over again!"

He punctuated his last sentence with a scream and leveled the gun at Dran's face. Light cried out to stop him, but it was too late.

One pull of the trigger, one momentary decision, one last sharp bang…

Then Dran Grevis was dead.

Wily dropped the pistol and took a shaky step backwards from the pulpy mess of Dran Grevis' face. Light ran over and steadied him, then looked into his friend's eyes with fear and disbelief.

"Al…What have you _done?"_

Wily's eyes were unfocused for a moment, but he finally pulled himself out of his own little world and stared at Light with a determined, yet guilty, expression.

"What you couldn't do, Tom. I gave him justice."

Wily pulled away from Light and walked towards the doors. "Come on."

Light watched Dr. Albert William Wily move on with his usual candor, wondering for a moment if his closest friend had become a monster. He silenced the thought with a sharp mental rebuke when he noticed that Wily's gait seemed heavier.

_You're going to have to carry that weight from now on_, Light realized sadly. He walked after Wily, and realized his friend had spoken the truth.

For all his strength and resolve…Light could never bring himself to kill someone.

Albert Wily had just done that. But who was stronger because of it? The killer? Or the innocent?

His mental conundrum ended quickly when Wily pulled Light into a set of sliding doors, and they found themselves in a small box.

An elevator.

Light recognized the buttons. "We never left." He uttered. "We're still in the Conference Center."

"In the sub-basement." Wily noted, before punching the button for the lobby. He reached over and took the Metool from Light's arms, worried that his stunned friend might drop it. "Good news is, we can't get any lower."

They were one floor up before Light realized his friend had meant that comment to indicate his own sins.

* * *

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and Light and Wily stepped out into the hotel's side hallway.

Light started to walk towards the front desk, and Wily grabbed his shoulder. "Wait." Albert urged, tensing up. "Take a look. Slowly."

Light blinked, but nodded at his friend's good sense. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

His face drawn and fretful, Wily nodded. "It's not something I like to remember, but yes."

Light stuck to the wall and poked his head around the corner. He winced when he saw a pair of strongmen standing by the lobby exit, glancing about casually. Even worse, some security guards were standing by them, not regarding them as threats, but comrades. Light pulled back and looked to Wily. "It's no good. More of Grevis' men are guarding the door. And I saw some security guards with them, too."

Wily exhaled. "I was afraid you would say that." He hefted the Metool under his arm and turned for the elevator. "Come on. I don't know how much longer we have, but eventually they'll wise up to the fact their leader is dead and we've escaped."

Light's hands clenched up as Wily hit the elevator switch. "I hate this. We're not criminals, yet they're hunting us down like we are!"

"We're wanted men. The definition alters the term." Wily corrected his friend.

"I should have listened to you. You said you were uncomfortable coming back here, and…"

Wily turned and silenced Light with a look. "Tom, there was no way either of us could have seen this coming. And trust me, you don't want to become as paranoid as I am." He blinked. "Ever. You get that?"

They stared at each other until the elevator doors opened, then Light looked away and stepped onto the lift. "Yeah. You want to protect me. But who's going to protect you?"

"I don't need protecting." Wily argued, following him in. He adjusted the Metool's weight again and pressed the button for their hotel room's floor.

"Yes, you do." Light muttered as the doors shut. "More than you know."

* * *

Neither scientist had any idea what they would find when they got to their room. Given that the last time they walked in, one of Grevis's men had tranq'd them, they had good reason to be worried.

"You ready for this?" Wily asked Light, as they approached the door to their room. "No." Light answered quietly. "But we don't exactly have a choice. Our stuff's in there, and we'll need it if we're going to make a break for it."

"Just take what we need." Wily said. "It won't be much longer until those goons figure out we've escaped the basement, and then we're going to want to travel light. Remember, I've been on the run before."

"I've been meaning to ask you something…"

"And you think now's the time?" Albert Wily asked with a hiss. Light glanced at him oddly, and the mad scientist let out a quick sigh. "Fine. What?"

"How did you become so good at sneaking around?"

Wily's face darkened, and he looked away from Light. "Afraid I've got some dark past you need to be concerned about?"

Light blushed as he realized he'd just insulted his best friend. Wily stopped beside the door, paused with his door on the handle, and looked back to Light. Wily mouthed what he couldn't say. _The door's open._

Light blinked, then looked down. The door _was_ open…just a crack, but enough to keep it from locking.

The two looked at each other, and Wily gave one bob of his head. Light nodded in reply, stepped in front of the door, and braced himself to run in.

Wily threw it open, and Light charged inside. He got three steps before he froze at the sight of a gun pointed at his chest. It didn't stay up for long, though. The arm wielding it was shaking to begin with…

And it lowered as soon as the head attached to the gunman's body let out a gasp of relief.

Walter Hastings nearly choked out a sob. "You're alive. Thank Christ."

Light put a hand to his chest, feeling his frantic heartbeat. "I'm not so sure. You frightened me half to…" He paused, and frowned. "What the Hell are _you_ doing in our room?"

"I thought I was rescuing you." Hastings admitted. Wily sidled into the room and shut the door behind him with a defining _click_, then stood beside his cohort. "I was afraid that your GAIDN would arrive too late."

Wily's eyes widened. "You…were the one controlling the Kewbee?"

Hastings put on an honest smile, and held up a remote control with a viewscreen. "I was surprised to find one in your closet…I guess not even you're immune from mementos, Wily. I never thought I would ever have cause to use this controller, though. It's a leftover from World War III."

"A portable GAIDN controller." Wily confirmed with a growl. "And why in the Hell did you have one in the first place?"

"A reminder." Hastings pointed out, shaking his head. "Things never to let happen again." He tucked the device away and shook his head in dismay. "I…I didn't know. God, The Tricker was Dran Grevis all along?"

The two scientists exchanged a glance, neither particularly willing to divulge anything about the former Vice President and schemer. If they said anything, they might let on accidentally that Grevis no longer breathed. Explaining why was not something either looked forward to doing.

Hastings mistook their silence for trauma they wished to leave unspoken, and he sighed. "Well, it worked. I was able to use the last GAIDN to try and free you. It obviously worked…you're here, after all. But you can't stay. They'll wake up eventually, and they'll come after you." He pointed at the Metool Wily still carried under his arm. "They'll come for that."

"Yeah. Grevis told us what he was after." Light confirmed slowly. He spoke in exact phrases, coming off terse. "And if there are others in the government besides Grevis who want to utilize robots and robotic technologies for military applications…"

"You can't stay." Hastings admitted sadly. "Hell, you can't ever come back, if that's how the wind is blowing. You've got to get out of this hotel and get to the airport."

"Fat chance of that." Wily muttered, squeezing his arm around the Metool again. "We stopped at the lobby on our way up. Grevis posted guards. No way out through the front doors."

Hastings made a face. "Damnit…Maybe there's a back way?" He winced harder still. "No. No, with all the dignitaries here on site, the security's locked down tight anyhow. The rear entrances and employee areas were sealed off days ago except for cleared personnel…And if Grevis could pull this much with him, I'd imagine he's corrupted security here to begin with."

Wily rolled his eyes. "Yes, we came to that conclusion ourselves. Let me summarize."

"Oh yes. You're so good at displaying the worst case scenario." Light snipped.

Wily ignored his partner and held up his free hand, ticking off his fingers as he counted. "One. Myself and Dr. Light, and our new prototype robot here are wanted by the United States government…at least, some secret bureau of it that Grevis hails from. Two. We know they're interested in weapons development. Grevis made that much clear…he wants us to continue modifying the Metool's plasma arc welder until we have a functional plasma cannon. Three. We are trapped in a hotel complex in the middle of the United States, with no way out of here and to the airport, where we _might_, keyword, _MIGHT_, be able to find a transport out of here. Four, those guards are eventually going to wise up and hunt us down, and if we get others involved, it's going to get messy in a hurry."

Hastings bit his lip. "Yeah. It's bad, all right. I don't know, you two. Maybe there is no way out of this."

Light listened as Wily went over the list, idly fidgeting. He moved a hand to scratch at his neck, and suddenly froze when his fingers touched the leather string dangling down under his shirt.

"Hey. Will."

Wily and Hastings looked over to Light, and the co-founder of LightTech Industries put on his first true smile ever since they had been caught. He held up his hand and splayed out all his fingers. "You're forgetting five."

Wily frowned. "Five? There is no five!"

Light chuckled, and pulled out the tiny medallion that Xanthos had given them before they had left the SRHQ in Alaska. "Five…We can still call for help."

Hastings, of course, was clueless about the silver medallion that had an engraving of the Greek flag. Wily scoffed. "Oh, come off it. That thing's just a distress beacon."

"A distress beacon? From who?" Hastings asked.

"Oh, just a work associate." Wily dismissed the question offhandedly.

"It's from Oliver Xanthos." Light added sternly, giving Wily a disapproving stare.

"What, the billionare philanthropist?" Hastings was intrigued now. "Why would he give you that? And where did he get it?"

Light shook his head. "I don't know. Right now, I don't care. He said this thing would let him know if we got into trouble. He never said how we could get out of it, but…"

"Just try it." Wily sighed, putting a hand over his eyes. "Who knows? Maybe he wasn't just pulling our leg. I doubt he'll be able to do much for us now, though."

"We have to try something, Al." Tom pinched the medallion's face between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it. "He said to depress it for two seconds…"

"And then what happens?" Hastings asked.

The medallion let out a chirp, and under the seam where the two halves of the medallion were joined, a green light began to glow.

Light held it up for the other two to see and smiled. "That, I imagine."

_"Dr. Light? You've activated your marker." _

Dr. Light stared at the device in surprise. He'd nearly jumped at the sudden voice, but recovered fast. "It's…it's a transceiver?"

The voice on the other end was less than pleased. _"Please tell me you didn't activate that marker on accident."_

"N…No. No, we're in trouble here."

The voice pulled back to full attention. _"Understood. I'm transferring you to Mr. Xanthos's private line."_

The medallion clicked for a moment, and then another voice spoke up. This one, Light recognized.

_"Yes? Dr. Light? What's wrong?"_

"We're trapped inside the Conference Center in Colorado Springs. Dran Grevis got himself out of prison, and he's working for some government agency. He tranquilized myself and Dr. Wily, then tortured us to try and gain our cooperation in corrupting the research behind our newest prototype."

"Who? _He did _what_?"_

"We can't get out. More of Grevis's men are guarding the doors out of the hotel, and security's amped up anyhow with everyone here. We think Grevis converted them, too."

_"My, my. That is a nasty pickle you've gotten yourself into." _The sound of typing in the background emanated from the hidden speaker within the medallion. _"So, you can't trust anyone around there. You've got a prototype Metool that has become a very real target."_

"And one more thing, Oliver…" Light added sadly. "Kay…Kay was destroyed."

_"It was just a robot, Tom." _Oliver Xanthos assured him. _"We can replace robots. I _can't_ replace you. I'm sending some help your way. We're getting you out of there."_

"Could I ask how exactly you were planning on doing that?"

_"Don't ask." _Xanthos warned him. _"Just see about getting to the rooftop. I'm betting they don't have guards posted there. And keep that medallion close by. I've locked in on your signal."_

"Just where are you, exactly?"

_"Fishing in the Pacific." _Xanthos finished. _"I'll see you in an hour." _

"An hour? How in the…" The medallion clicked, but kept blinking a bright green around the hidden ring. Light stared at it. "Oliver?" He snorted when no answer came, and tucked the medallion back in his shirt. "He hung up on me."

"At least that much is normal." Wily remarked. He stared at Hastings again. "I still don't understand you…I don't think I trust you, either. How did you know Grevis was going to come after us? Where did you hear about The Tricker, and his plans for us?"

Hastings looked away. "After World War III, I stopped trusting in the government…or at least, trusting the people who ran it. I'd made friends. I made it a point to make sure what they heard, I heard. The Tricker was one of the rumors going around. Another was that some people had been reviewing the clauses of your contract with the Second Rainbow in the days leading up to this Conference. The third one was a little less hidden…The United States government is thinking of setting up a nationalized robotics firm. Your two names came up very strongly for re-assignment into it."

Wily scowled. "We would have never agreed to that!"

Hastings smiled. "That's what I said to myself. But there was a definite feeling from those involved that you wouldn't dare say no. Now we know why. You weren't going to have a choice." Hastings shook it off and pointed to the door. "Come on. We have to get going. They're going to find us if we stay here."

He stood up, and Light started to move for the door. Wily didn't budge an inch, and the other two froze in place.

Wily stared at the former Senator, and Hastings shook his head. "You still don't trust me?"

"All things considered, what with it being a night for the paranoid…no, I don't."

Hastings nodded. "Yeah. I thought you might say that. But I meant what I said, Dr. Wily. This world needs the two of you. You stand for something better than the cruel and petty differences we are still trying to escape. No blood must ever be shed by your hands, not even indirectly. If you become murderers, then there is no hope for this world." He hoisted up his pistol and showed it to them. It was a tazer. "All my political life, I've had to live with what I did at the Contest of 2039…and what happened because of it. I promised myself I would find a way to make it up to Dr. Light. This is all I can do now…help get you to safety, so your robots will not be misused to repeat the mistakes of the past."

He handed Wily the tazer. "But if you still don't trust me, then put me down now."

The mad scientist took it from Hastings and considered the incapacitating device for many long seconds. He finally shook his head and handed it back to the impressed Hastings. "Keep it. I've had enough shocks tonight."

Light cracked a thin-lipped smile. "He's joking. That's a good sign."

"Shut it, Tom." Wily grumbled, readjusting the Metool in the crook of his arm. "Grab what we need. We're just getting started."

"Yes, we are." Hastings seconded solemnly. "And I pray whatever your benefactor does happens quick…because time is what we don't have anymore."

* * *

They stuffed the Metool in a duffel bag that had once held Light's clothes. Grevis had taken a program disk as well, which had an explanation of the logic circuits that drove the Metool's Asimovian heuristics. That was gone and irretrievable now…but the source code, at least, was intact. The Metool had not been tampered with, and the only other place on Earth that had working copies of the code was back at their laboratory in the Second Rainbow.

With Hastings keeping his tazer behind his back, they made their way to the elevators. Light reached for the button and pressed it…

And nothing happened.

He frowned and pushed the button again. Wily swore and turned away from the elevator doors. _"Scheisse. _They've cut the power to them, Tom."

"What?"

"They know." Wily snapped. "They cut the power to the elevators to stop us from using them."

Hastings looked to the floor numbers above the door. Lights showed an elevator steadily climbing. "Then how come an elevator's climbing?"

"Probably because they're on it." Wily snapped. "Come on, we've got to make a break for the stairs! They're this way!"

Not one to argue with the paranoid logic of his more flight-oriented friend, Light dashed after him. Hastings took up the rear, and kept his taser ready. They crashed through the open door of the hotel stairwell, and started their long run up for the roof.

They were five flights up before the stairwell door they had come through opened again, and a voice echoed up to them.

_"They're running upstairs! I repeat, they're running up the stairs!"_

"So much for escaping unnoticed." Wily hissed between measured breaths. Light huffed and puffed a deal more than his friend, thanks to the extra weight he carried and his smoking habit. None of them were spring chickens, and as they neared the top, it became apparent that the agents sent to capture them would catch them not long after they reached the hotel's roof. Their pursuer's footsteps were getting louder, and more numerous.

The top of the stairwell finally loomed into view after another turn of the concrete steps. An electronic lock was on the door to freedom, meant to keep curious patrons from being able to leap to their doom.

Wily jiggled the handle and swore. "Locked!"

Hastings shook his head and pulled out a keycard from his pocket. "Not for long. I swiped this from the front desk after our phone call got interrupted."

"So that's…how you got…into our room." Light panted, sweat rolling down his neck. Walter Hastings smiled and swiped the card through the lock's magnetic reader. The warning light on the door turned green, and Wily was finally able to open it.

He rushed through, with Light fast on his heels. Light looked over his shoulder to Hastings, who was still inside the stairwell, looking at the door oddly. "Come on! They're coming!" Hastings looked up to Light, and smiled so strangely that the prime founder of LightTech slowed to a halt.

Hastings nodded and raised his tazer. "I can't go with you…but I can save you." He shut the door, and a moment later, the barrier's locking mechanism shorted out in a shower of sparks.

"No! NO!" Light ran back over to the door, not heeding the danger. He pounded on it. "Walter, what are you doing?!"

"I've shorted out the door's unlocking mechanism." Hastings called through the steel. "They won't be getting through easily now, but they will get through, and I…"

Light shut his eyes. "You idiot. They'll…"

"It doesn't matter what they do to me." Hastings yelled so he could be heard. "Now go!"

The voices of the agents in the stairwell broke out into shouts, and Light heard Hastings shout back at them as loudly as he could.

He heard the shots they fired, and shuddered with every one. Six in all. Six bullets.

A dull thud landed on the floor of the stairwell's corridor, and Light put his hand to his mouth to stifle a sob.

Somehow, he found his way out to Wily, who stood in the middle of the roof with a horrified expression on his face. "Hastings…is he…"

Light wiped the tears from his eyes. "He sacrificed himself to save us."

Wily bit his lip for a moment, then jammed his hands into the pockets of his white laboratory coat. "He said that no blood could be shed by our hands…Because if we were murderers, there was no hope for this world."

Light looked at his friend, and realized that Wily was quoting Hastings out of self-directed shame. "Yes…"

Wily looked away. "I don't think he would have done that…if he'd known that my hands were already stained."

Light looked at Wily. The mad scientist seemed ready to turn himself over, or do something even worse besides. As he usually did when Albert got this way, Dr. Light found himself putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. Wily looked up at him, hoping for some soothing words.

"You may be, Al…But not because of your robots. Because of Grevis."

"That death, I don't feel guilty for." Wily countered.

Light bit his lip. There was apparently some parts of Wily's conscience still inscrutable to him. "Hastings believed in you. And I still want to believe in you. The world needs to believe in you. You do need saving, Al…from yourself." His words turned harsh. "If you are sorry, then you need to pull yourself out of this funk and make sure that _nobody_ will ever again die because of your inaction."

Wily snorted, though the hint of his old smile started to return. "What are you, my mother?" Light relaxed, and patted his shoulder again.

"No. Just the only friend you've got."

A pounding started to crash against the door. Wily and Light turned towards the stairwell entrance, instantly back on alert.

"They're coming." Light blurted out the obvious.

Wily looked around and sighed. "It's hopeless this time, Tom. And I'm not being a cynic. We've got nowhere else to run." Light instinctively held his duffel bag tighter.

The door burst open, and a host of five plainclothes agents rushed out with their guns at the ready.

"Hands up!" Their leader yelled out. Light and Wily looked at each other, and Wily gave Light another apologetic shake of his head.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Tom."

"Well…on the bright side…this time, we're together." Light answered hopefully.

They raised their arms up, and the agents started to close in.

Or they did, right before a hail of silent, but visible laser blasts mowed them down, turning the storm of men into a writhing carpet of screaming flesh and blood…alive, but very much injured. Light and Wily whirled about in the direction of where the sound of the shots had come from…

A small football shaped aircraft was descending fast, with wings that held swiveling thrusters. It descended vertically to the surface, engines whining loudly, and they saw and recognized a person from a side door of the ship jumping out the last ten feet to meet them.

With the jetwash blowing her hair in all directions, a flightsuit equipped Jessica Bravewind lowered a laser rifle down to her side and smiled at them. "You two need a lift?" She yelled out over the noise.

Wily blinked a few times, then finally reached over and lifted Light's jaw up to the rest of his face.

* * *

Jessica made sure they were both strapped in before raising a hand up and toggling her wireless headset. "We've got them, Captain Seleyna. I'm sealing the hatch. Take off and prepare for rendezvous with the _Daedalus." _She slammed the outer door of the airship closed, then hit the lock.

A muted confirmation echoed back, and the aircraft started to lift off.

Light looked around the small cabin of the ship in disbelief. "Where…What…"

"You're aboard the VTOL jumpship _Icarus_, courtesy of Mr. Xanthos. The Captain and pilot is Marus Seleyna, if you want to thank him later." Jessica Bravewind cut in. She looked over to the cabin's single crewmember over by the weapons rack. "Do you have that rifle secured?"

"Yes, ma'am!" The officer chirped, lifting his helmet's flight visor to reveal his sparkling blue eyes. "That was some nice shooting, by the way!"

The small jumpship started to lift off of the hotel's roof, shaking the passenger cabin for a moment before falling steady. Jessica looked to Light and Wily, concern lining her mouth. "Are you two all right?"

Wily scoffed. "I don't think I've got a good answer for that."

Light slammed his hands down on his legs, palms up. "HOW?!" He stammered. Wily rolled his eyes.

"And apparently, Tom's even worse off." Wily took in a breath and plopped the duffel bag in Light's lap. "But at least we got this out of there."

Jessica looked down at it. "Your robot?"

"Yes, our Metool." Wily nodded. "I imagine your employer filled you in?"

"Hmm." Jessica smiled and folded her arms. "Not every day your government tries to put you under house arrest."

"No, but it seems to be happening with worrisome frequency." Wily grumbled. He stared at the bodyguard, scrutinizing her. "So how exactly did Oliver get his hands on this plane? I don't recognize the specs…It's not from any aircraft I'm aware of."

"It shouldn't be." Jessica replied in measured tones. "It's the only one of its kind."

The engines whined up a bit more, and Jessica smiled. "You two might want to brace yourselves."

A moment later, they were flattened into their seats by G-forces, which thankfully didn't last for long. Wily stretched his jaw to equalize the air pressure inside his head and shook off his momentary discomfort. "Geez…lot of power in those engines. But I looked at the ship before we climbed in. This wasn't meant for long distances. Xanthos said he was in the Pacific Ocean. How do you expect to fly us that far?"

A speaker inside the _Icarus's _cabin crackled, and the genial voice of Oliver Xanthos butted in.

_"That's why you have the _Daedalus_, Dr. Wily. I'm glad to hear that the two of you made it out without any more bloodshed."_

"Not quite." Dr. Light answered back, slowly recovering from his shock. "Walter Hastings…died…getting us to the rooftop."

Xanthos was silent for a moment. _"I'm…sorry to hear that. From what I knew of him, Hastings was a decent man."_

"So perhaps, now that you've gotten us airborne, you might tell us how you're planning on getting us out of the country." Wily's mood remained as grim as ever.

_"The _Icarus_ is a jumpship…short range, but it was designed to get from low to high altitudes to meet with adjoining aircraft. You're wondering why you haven't heard of it? Well, the truth is the design was taken from Boeing, but shot down over budgetary concerns. The ship you're flying in was meant to be NATO's answer to the transport helicopter."_

"And you have it because…" Wily surmised, digging for an answer.

Xanthos chuckled. _"As my father used to say, 'Never ask where the miracles come from. It upsets God.'" _He went quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was in curt tones. _"Jessica, the Daedalus's radar just tracked two incoming fighters from Buckley Air Force Base. They're coming in hot."_

"…They'll be on us in less than a minute at full thrust." Jessica growled, unsnapping her harness and running towards the cockpit to warn them.

Light glanced at the cabin's speaker with a worried expression. "Now what?"

_"Now, my good doctors…you fly. And you don't stop running until you're above international waters."_

Light stared wide-eyed at the speaker. "You mean…Leave? And never come back?"

Wily folded his arms. "This country left us a long time ago, Tom."

Light looked out the window and to the shining lights of Colorado Springs below and east of them.

His blue eyes dimmed when he realized Wily was right.

* * *

Even though they were passengers, Light and Wily couldn't help but unbuckle their seats and move to ones closer to the cockpit. The trouble was because of them, and they wanted to hear what came next, if only to be a part of it in spirit.

The _Icarus's_ radio soon squawked. _"Unidentified aircraft, this is Delta One from Buckley Air Force Base. You are flying in restricted airspace. Decrease your speed to 175 kph and change course to bearing 027, over."_

The cockpit was connected to the Icarus's cabin by a small doorway, currently opened. The pilot, Captain Marus Seleyna, looked to Jessica. Xanthos's bodyguard shook her head. "Don't answer them."

"But, ma'am…"

"Do we have any weapons on this crate?" She prodded.

"No, ma'am!" The Captain answered calmly, no small feat given their condition. "This is a dropship. The only weapons we have on board are those laser rifles you stowed in the back!"

_"I repeat, unidentified aircraft. Slow to 175 and turn to bearing 027. You will be escorted to the landing strip at Buckley. Failure to acknowledge and follow this directive will result in the use of lethal force."_

Captain Seleyna sighed. "The _Daedalus_ is still a ways out yet."

"It's coming, though, right?" Jessica clarified. He nodded his head, and Jessica sighed. "Well…we might as well do what they ask."

Marus looked at her oddly. "Ma'am?"

"It's a delaying tactic." Jessica reassured him. Slow it down to 125 and follow their heading."

"They said 175."

Jessica smiled and reached for the cockpit's door handle. "I know." She closed it before he could argue again.

Wily and Light stared at her when she reappeared. Xanthos's bodyguard sized them up and arched an eyebrow. "You moved."

"Didn't think it mattered." Wily said calmly. "So what's the plan?"

"Not letting you fall into their hands is a good start." Jessica mused. "We're not exactly packing a tremendous amount of heat on board, so we're going to have to wait for the _Daedalus_ to catch up with us."

"Can't you outfly those fighters?" Light asked, perhaps a little too quickly. The black-haired vision of deadly beauty stepped over to the weapons rack and retrieved her laser rifle.

"Take a look out the window, and then you can answer your own question."

Light did so, and paled when he saw the outline of a particularly menacing fighter plane take up position off their wing. Even in the dead of night, the silhouette of stars behind it provided enough light to identify the type.

"Will, those are…"

"I see it." Dr. Wily finished grimly. "It's a pair of Harbingers." The Harbinger was the next-generation fighter aircraft used by the United States after the F-22 Raptor was decommissioned. Even though it had no weapons visible, the weapons bay on the underside of its belly was capable of holding multiple munitions.

Light shook off a shiver. "I miss when they used to name planes after animals."

"We're slowing down and reversing course so they don't blow us to kingdom come for the moment." Jessica told them, powering up the rifle and letting the capacitor store up a charge. "But I would suggest that you two check your harnesses. It'll be a while before our ride shows up, and it can't exactly help us out…so we'll be on our own here."

Wily raised a bushy black eyebrow at the sentence, but let it slide without questioning it. Jessica was just a woman trying to do her job, and she certainly had better things to do besides be riddled with queries.

Jessica tapped her earpiece. "Are we ready?" She asked.

Captain Seleyna's voice came over the cabin speakers. "_The Harbingers are on either side of us, but they're having trouble maintaining speed." _He chuckled_. "You knew they'd be close to stalling out, didn't you?_"

Jessica shrugged. "Know your enemy, they say." She glanced over at the officer sitting by their two passengers. "How decent of a shot are you with a laser rifle, Ensign?"

The officer blinked once, then reached down and picked up another rifle from the rack. He activated the power cell, looked back to her, and nodded. "I shot 180 back in the day."

Jessica smirked at the boast. "On my signal, open up the side hatch and take aim for their payload doors." She toggled her mike. "Marus, equalize the cabin pressure with the outside, and prepare to drop thirty feet." Not waiting for a response, she looked over to Light and Wily. "You two are strapped in, I hope. When we get started, some things are likely to bounce around."

Light swallowed, and reconnected the strap of the duffel bag holding their Metool around his harness. "Okay. We're good. Just what are you going to do, anyhow? Those laser rifles are powerful, but can they punch through the armor of those two jets?"

"No, they can't." Jessica admitted, quickly tying a harness around herself and attaching it to a lanyard hook by the _Icarus_'s port hatch. A slow hiss filled the cabin, and the air became suddenly chilly. "It would take a lot more power than the batteries on these rifles to make a shot powerful enough to get through. What we can do, though, is hold them off a bit with some patchwork spot welding." She looked over to her other shooter. "You set, Ensign?"

"Aim for the hatch, aye." The officer replied easily. "We'll only get one chance at this, you know."

"So don't miss." Jessica advised him with a growl. "We'll run out of flares and chaff long before they run out of missiles." She tapped her earpiece. "All right, Captain. Give us a drop, and pop the hatches!"

"I'm on it!" He shouted back to the tiny airship's passenger compartment.

Jessica gripped her rifle, and looked out of the corner of her eye to Light and Wily. "You two are going to want to hang on to something!"

The warning came too late to do them any good. A sudden drop forced tremendous negative G's on their bodies, and Light clenched his teeth to fight the sinking feeling that slammed into his bladder. _Icarus's_ side hatches opened. Cold air gusted through the dropship's cabin, and Light clung to the backpack-covered Metool for dear life. Jessica raised up her rifle and took aim for the surprised fighter's payload doors. The other shootist did the same on his side. Two seething green beams of energy smashed along the bellies of their pursuers, making sparks fly as the metal heated up and warped out of shape.

Both eyes open, Jessica kept pouring it on until the two fighters broke off and fell back. She lowered her rifle and stepped away from the side. "Did you get him?" She yelled over to the other crewman.

The Ensign powered down his rifle and smiled, throwing her a thumbs up. "Those doors will be stuck but good."

_"All right, people! I'm closing the doors, so strap yourselves in and hang on!"_ Captain Seleyna called over the ship intercom excitedly. _"We're pulling an Immelmann!"_

The hatch doors hissed shut again, and the cabin began to pressurize. Jessica and her fellow shooter quickly detached their lanyard hooks, stowed the laser rifles, and threw themselves into the nearest seats.

"What's an Immelmann?" Light asked worriedly.

Jessica grinned at him like a force of nature and buckled her harness. "A U-Turn." She tapped her earpiece. "We're good! Go, go, go!"

They were pressed hard into their seats as the _Icarus_ aimed its nose skyward. The unsettling feeling got worse when the dropship flipped entirely, and they hung upside down. Just when Light thought his stomach was safe, _Icarus_ rolled back upright. That was enough to make him finally hurl his dinner…which barely missed the bag that he hurriedly shoved at Wily.

A few moments of gastric convulsions passed with everyone else staring while trying not to. Light finished and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He looked apologetically to Jessica, face shock white. "Sorry…I guess I'm still a little queasy."

"You know, Tom, I didn't like looking at your baked herring the first time around." Wily remarked, averting his eyes. "Much less the second."

"So sue me." Light took the duffel bag back from Wily's lap and cradled it close. "Did we get away from them?"

"No." Jessica muttered. She spoke into her earpiece. "Give me some good news, Marus."

_"Well, the good news is, you managed to weld the doors shut on those Harbinger's weapons bay. The bad news is, you kind of ticked them off, and they still have their guns, and they're coming up behind us. Worse, they stopped talking."_

"Blasted…" Jessica muttered. "Just can't catch a break, can we?"

_"Hey, it wasn't MY idea to fly into the belly of the beast. I just do what I'm told." _He snarked back. _"Hang on, I'm taking the engines to full thrust. We won't get away from those Harbingers any quicker, but we can at least get closer to the _Daedalus_ so they can help out."_

The engines outside the airframe screamed louder, and stronger vibrations ran through _Icarus_. Light hiccupped when the ship pointed its nose skyward. "Oh no, not again…" He moaned.

Wily took a look at his friend, then snatched the duffel bag and Metool away. "No you don't. No puking on the prototype, got it?!"

Jessica braced her hands on the armrest and looked over to the crewman on board. "Tell me we have a vomit bag in this crate." She sighed.

Her fellow shootist shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "No, sorry. We didn't think we'd need them."

"Hurp!" Light choked, putting a hand to his mouth. He could feel the next wave coming.

Wily glared. "For your sake, Tom, you'd better swallow that."

The bile returned back to the source with a loud squelchy thump.

Tracer rounds flew by the windows, and the _Icarus _shuddered as it veered away from certain destruction. Jessica tapped her earpiece. "_Daedalus_, I don't know where you are, but you'd better hurry the HELL up! We're taking fire here!"

"That's the…understatement of…the century." Wily eked out through clenched teeth. Having the Metool to hang onto helped some, but _Icarus _had no defense against line of sight hot lead.

The dropship shook again, and a round punched through the floor inches from Light's foot. The scientist yelped and pulled his foot back, but intense suction started sucking out the air.

"Damnit!" Jessica screamed. She punched a switch, and the howl of retreating air through the siphoning wound decreased as she dumped the entire cabin atmosphere in one fell swoop.

"Masks!" The crewman next to Jessica cried, reaching under his seat. He pulled up a small bottle of gas and a connected mask, putting it on and starting the flow. Light, Wily, and Jessica Bravewind quickly followed suit, stopping their brains from slipping into oxygen debt.

Their masks, thankfully, had a voice amplifying speaker so they could talk through the plastic. "We're about 10,000 meters up." Jessica explained. "At this altitude, without these masks, we'd lose consciousness in a matter of seconds. The air's just too thin. Quick thinking, Reg."

"Aah, it's just standard procedure." The Ensign muttered. He blinked, then grinned at her through his facemask. "Hey, that's the first time you've used my name."

"And it might be the last." Jessica said coldly. She glanced out the rear porthole of the dropship and saw the shadowy impressions of the Harbingers lining up for the killing shot. "It was nice shooting with you for a while, Reg."

The Harbingers opened up, and tracer rounds darted towards _Icarus_ like tiny fireflies.

In response, two blisteringly powerful beams of red light shot down from above and cut through their noses. The now severed jets fell away, and the canopies blew as the pilots ejected. What was left of the Harbingers tumbled groundward, no longer a threat.

The cabin's speakers kicked back on, and a well-meaning voice chirped in.

_"_Icarus,_ this is _Daedalus._ It's good to see you didn't take too many hits. Any wounded?"_

Wily held the Metool even tighter as Jessica Bravewind smiled and toggled her earpiece. "No injuries. You sure took your time making the rendezvous."

_"You're not in docking position yet. That turnabout of yours cost you a few seconds. All in all, it was probably for the best, but…Aah. We're just glad to get the Captain back. Anything you need when you dock?"_

"Probably some pillows." Jessica answered. "These two probably need to get some shut-eye on the trip west." She looked over and paused, taking note of Wily's own smirk and Light's motionless frame. "It looks like one of them passed out and got started already."

The exhausted and unconscious form of Doctor Thomas Light didn't argue with that.

* * *

The vibrations were soothing to him, and he didn't feel like waking up because of it. Memories eventually forced him to come to with a hoarse gasp, and the aging Doctor Light snapped to attention.

He wasn't in _Icarus_, but he was sitting in another transport's passenger seat. A blanket covered his legs, and a pillow fell out from behind where his head was. "Huh?" He yawned and pulled himself up, then tossed the blanket on his chair.

His duffel bag was in another chair nearby. He opened it up, and sighed in relief when he saw the Metool was intact. "Thank goodness."

"Good to see you up and around, Doctor."

Light turned around and saw the Ensign who had been in _Icarus's_ cabin with them. "You?"

"Me." The fellow smiled, walking towards him. He had a coffee cup in each hand, and offered one over. "Ensign Reginald Weaver, at your service."

Light accepted the drink and sniffed at it. Dark roast. He took a sip. "Thanks." He nodded to the man. "You're Irish?"

"Scottish." Reg Weaver chuckled. "Easy to get the two confused."

Light looked about. "Where are we?"

"You're currently in the passenger compartment of the prototype self-sustaining jet _Daedalus_."

"…Which is owned by Oliver Xanthos." Light inferred, finally in a calm enough moment that every part of his situation finally caught up to him.

"Oh, aye." Reg chuckled, throwing in a bit more brogue than usual into his voice. When Light offered no rebuttal, he leaned in. "You feeling all right?"

"I'm alive." Light mused. "I don't know if that counts as being all right, though."

"Well, it should." Reg scoffed. "That wee robot of yours is safe, isn't it?"

"And because of us, a good man had to die." Light answered. He stared down into the black coffee in his mug. "I'm getting tired of people dying to protect me."

The Ensign harrumphed, then reached a hand over and squeezed Light's shoulder supportively. "You can't change the past, that's what Mr. Xanthos always tells us…but you do have the ability to change the future."

It made sense, and Light nodded to the advice. Reg pulled his hand back. "Come on, then. I imagine you'll want to catch up with your friend."

"And where is he?"

"Getting the tour, I think." Ensign Weaver mused. "Miss Bravewind thought it'd be better if we just let you sleep some of that airsickness off. Is that coffee helpin' any?"

"A little bit." Light agreed. Reg led them towards the back of the jet, and he followed, balancing his cup in his hand. "It was probably the last of that knockout drug Grevis used on us catching up to me."

"Oh, it must have." Reg chuckled good-naturedly. "But I'll agree you're doing better now." He opened up a doorway and walked through, holding it open for Light.

The scientist gratefully stepped through. "I guess I'm getting used to being in these planes…although it probably had more to do with those evasive maneuvers Captain Seleyna had to use to keep us intact." Light looked down at his feet, which were only marginally unbalanced by the ship's vibrations. "This jet…the…_Daedalus?_ It flies rather smoothly."

The dull buzz of conversation met his query, and Dr. Wily glanced over his shoulder with a good natured smirk. "That was the first thing I noticed myself. Finally up and moving, eh Tom? Good to see."

"I'm surprised you didn't hurl your dinner after all that." Light groused, following Ensign Weaver as they stepped through the narrow corridor into the small space that Wily, and another crewman, were standing in. Light took another look at the man beside Wily, and recognized the dark black hair and swarthy complexion. "You were the pilot in _Icarus_, weren't you?"

"Captain Marus Seleyna." The Mediterranean pilot smiled. "And actually, the _Daedalus_ is my ship. Mr. Xanthos just thought it best if he had the best pilot come after you."

"It turns out that the _Icarus_ and _Daedalus_ are a part and partial package deal." Wily explained. "Xanthos had these built to support each other."

"That would explain the references to Greek mythology." Light inferred, glancing at Marus. "It doesn't explain what Xanthos is doing with this much military hardware...or personnel."

"Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to pass along a message to you from Mr. Xanthos." Captain Seleyna jumped in. "He said, _"I'm sure you two have questions, and I'll answer them all when you catch up to me in the Pacific."_ So, you'll have to save that question for then."

"I plan on it." Light nodded, looking over to Wily. "So what were you two discussing?"

Wily smiled, and twirled the end of his mustache. "Captain Seleyna was just showing me what made this marvelous jet fly so smoothly and quietly." He tapped on the bulkhead behind him and beamed. "It's a fusion engine."

Light's eyes widened. "A…what?"

"A fusion engine." Captain Seleyna repeated slowly. "You know, it smashes particles together, forms bigger particles, and then…"

"I know what fusion is!" Light cut in, shaking his head. "But how in the devil does this jet have it? I mean, there's only one person I know of who's had any breakthroughs with the energy technology, and…"

"Dr. Bailey Flynn, from Ireland." Marus interrupted, turning the tables on a flabbergasted Thomas Light. "Yes, it's his work that went into making the power source for this jet. Of course, that doesn't help with the propulsion."

"If I may, sir?" Reg asked. "I could explain it to these fine fellows."

Marus nodded. "A good idea. I should probably go and make sure we'll reach our rendezvous without any problems." He nodded to Wily with a smile. "Take care, doctor."

"Good luck." Wily grinned back. "Don't fly us into a mountain now." Captain Seleyna slipped past Dr. Light and Ensign Weaver, and left them standing by Wily.

Reg scratched the back of his head. "Well, come on then. We may as well get comfy. And bring your coffee, Dr. Light. I don't think it'd hurt the fusion reactor if you splashed some on it, but…better safe than sorry." He headed back for the passenger cabin.

Light took one last look at the bulkhead that protected the reactor, shuddered, and fell in line behind Wily.

They sat down in the chairs in the central cabin, and Light took another sip of his coffee. "Is that fusion engine safe?"

"I'd hope so." Reg laughed. "That reactor's lined with two kinds of shielding. The first kind to block things from getting out past the electromagnetic field, and the second's to keep things from getting in. No, I wouldn't worry about it overloading anytime soon." He paused, and looked up to the ceiling pensively. "Of course, if someone did manage to hit it hard enough to punch through the armor, we'd be vaporized in a two hundred foot diameter fireball." He glanced back down, all smiles again. "But the chances of that happening are rather slim."

Wily blinked and stared. Light looked off to the side and drank the rest of his coffee.

Reg cleared his throat. "But, no matter. You wanted to know how this ship flies, right?"

"Let me guess." Wily said jokingly. "Antigravity?"

Reg laughed. "Nobody's cracked that one yet. No, the fusion reactor powers all of the _Daedalus's_ systems. Electronics, radar dampening field, communications, food storage…and the engines." He tapped his armrest. "This jet's equipped with a set of prototype atmospheric harvesting hydrogen thrusters."

The two stared, and Ensign Weaver offered a nervous chuckle. "Right, right. I don't understand it much m'self, but it uses an electric field to break down the air that get funneled into it to make hydrogen. Supposedly."

Wily narrowed his eyes. "You're joking."

Reg shrugged. "The _Daedalus_ never runs out of fuel, and never shuts down. The only time it has to make landings is for repairs and supplies…and with the dropship, sometimes not even then. It's a pretty efficient jet, if I do say so. I've enjoyed serving aboard her."

Wily looked over to Tom excitedly. "Do you realize what this means?!"

"No…what?"

"Think of it! Self-replenishing fuel stores! Tom, the possibilities!" Wily's eyes danced about while his mind worked in overdrive. "If we could miniaturize the technology, adjust the power curve, even our Metools could use it! And it'll burn cleanly…it would just make heat and water!"

"All I see right now is another weapon of war." Dr. Light argued, dampening down Wily's parade. "And our 'benefactor' is right at the thick of it. This ship was made from the advances that the Second Rainbow put forward, Al! The Second Rainbow, an organization that's pledged not towards war, but _peace!_"

Wily sighed. "Always wrecking my fun, aren't you?" He leaned back in his chair and held up his hand. "I've suspected that there was more to Xanthos than he let on for a lot of years now. If the guy happens to have a Batman complex, who am I to argue against it? He saved our lives, Tom…and more importantly, he saved our work from being misused." He waved his hand about. "Look around you. You see a ship made for war. I disagree. The _Icarus_ and _Daedalus_ may have been originally designed for military application, and they may even have weaponry…But have you ever seen this ship, or any ship like it see action?" Wily waited for Light to offer argument, but his friend merely lowered his eyes and shook his head. "No. Which means that Xanthos _has_ this technology, which he's appropriated from the Rainbow's work in some cases…but he doesn't use it to further the cause of destruction."

"You're splitting hairs, and you know it." Light snapped. "A weapon is still a weapon. Whether for attack or defense, it doesn't change what it is."

Wily blinked once, then pressed his lips together. "Then by your definition, I am just as much an ironmonger as those who used the GAIDNs to wage World War III…and you harbored the last of those weapons for years, under the guise of a blue paint job and a relic collection."

Light's eyes widened. "What? But Kay wasn't…"

"Now who's splitting hairs?" Wily slammed him. The mustachioed scientist stood up from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go talk to Jessica in the cockpit, and thank her for rescuing us."

Light looked away, and Wily stormed off. Ensign Weaver glanced between the two of them, and waited until Wily was out of earshot before speaking again.

"I thought you two were close. You don't seem to be getting along at all."

"Ah." Light sighed, setting his empty coffee mug on the seat full of blankets next to him. He clasped his hands together and rested them on his stomach. "We argue a lot, yes. But Will's one of the few people I'd trust with my life. I'm just upset right now, is all."

"Things will get better." Reg consoled him.

Light laughed humorlessly at the cheerful remark. "Really? I said that after we stopped the wars from starting again five years ago, and Latch died. I wanted to believe it after the Second Rainbow started working, and it took Hyrmue quitting the organization to make Treeborgs a reality. I thought the robots that Wily and I made for LightTech would be used for their intended purpose, but at the first trial, the darkest hearts of my country tried to steal them for war, and another old friend had to die." He looked up at Reg, angry and depressed. "Nothing gets better, all right? Nobody ever comes clean, and those who take a stand get mowed down!"

Reg closed his eyes for a moment. "Huh. Maybe you're right." The Scotsman breathed. He drummed his fingers together and stood up. "Maybe we're all just foolin' ourselves, thinking that we can actually save this world, and what's left of our precious human race. The thing is, there's enough of us who still give a damn. Xanthos is one of 'em. That's why I joined up with him after the wars started. That's why all of us did. There's not a one of us that isn't guilty of something, Doctor Light, but at least we _try_ to make up for it. I thought you and Wily were similarly minded blokes, but I've been wrong before about people. I suppose I just didn't want to believe you'd thrown in the towel quite yet."

He walked out of the passenger cabin and towards the fusion reactor chamber in the back of the jet. Light watched him for a moment, and blinked when Ensign Weaver turned around and shook his head at him.

"Fact is, Mr. Xanthos is one of the most decent bastards I've ever known. Before ye go off judging him for the tools he uses to keep this world turning, keep this in mind. Your friend Hyrmue, that Treeborg fellow? He had a secret investor that helped him to get his artificial flora going. He never told a soul who, but all of us know who it was. And I'm betting that for as smart as ye are, you can figure it out on your own as well." He closed the passenger cabin door behind him, and left Light to sit in seething silence.

The scientist reached into his duffel bag and pulled out the Metool inside. He held it between his shaking hands and stared at the compacted helmet and withdrawn feet and head. Silent and perfect, the Metool mocked him. Light let out an angry roar and hurled it at the floor. It bounced off harmlessly and spun in a circle like a quarter, finally coming to rest upright without a scratch.

"Damn you." Light snapped at the powerless mechanoid. "I made you to save the world. Why can't you save the people who die for it?"

The Metool, of course, said nothing.

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_August 27__th__, 2052 C.E._

_4:20 A.M._

His phone was ringing. Darwin Vinkus cracked one bleary eye open and glanced at the faint neon blue readout of his digital alarm clock.

_It's way too early for that phone to be ringing._

It rang again.

"Son of a…" Darwin muttered through grit teeth. At least it wasn't another early morning emergency call to the site coordinator. Two years ago, he'd hoisted that responsibility onto the shoulders of Dr. Paul van Hostick of Norway and resumed his original duties as the Second Rainbow's U.N. Representative.

And he still got calls like this.

"_Fine."_ He snarled, using anger to force his body up. He jerked his hand towards the phone, yanked it from the charger, and collapsed back onto his pillow. His eyes shut on reflex, even as he pressed the call button and set the receiver to his head. "Vinkus. Wuddyu want?"

_"Good morning to you too, Darwin." _Came the voice of Oliver Xanthos. For a change, it wasn't cheerful.

Darwin Vinkus yawned. "Some of us like sleeping, Mr. Xanthos, even if you don't."

_"Ah. Well, I'll just tell you what I called about, and then you can drop back to the land of dreams."_

"I'd appreciate it." Vinkus mumbled, trying to move as little as possible. His precious sleep, and the warm that went with it was starting to pull away from him.

_"You may be getting a call soon from the United States State Department."_

"Uh-huh."

_"You see, our friends Dr. Light and Wily introduced a brand new robot at that conference they went to."_

"Yes, yes…"

_"It's going to revolutionize the field. The only problem is, somebody kidnapped them, and they say that it was Dran Grevis. You know, the ex-Vice President."_

"Oh, him?" Vinkus yawned again, only half-listening. "I thought he was in prison."

_"It seems they let him out to work for one of those omnipresent secret government agencies."_

"You don't say."

_"…Are you listening to me, Darwin? This is important." _Oliver said warningly.

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm listening."

_"Good. I'd hate to think you were just spacing me out here. Anyhow, Light and Wily escaped and called me for help. I sent some of my people to pick them up from the rooftop of the Conference Center they were at, but getting away's been kind of dicey. My men had to shoot down two fighters who were in pursuit."_

"And where are they now?"

_"About five miles up and over California. It won't be much longer until they reach my boat. It looks like they're going to have more company, though."_

"So why are you telling me all this?" Vinkus stretched his legs out with a grunt.

_"…Geez. You're useless this early in the day. I'm telling you this because I'm bringing our boys home. It's not safe for them in the United States anymore…I don't even think taking them back to SRHQ right now would be the smartest option, since it means going through Alaskan patrols. The U.S. is throwing out a lot of firepower right now, and they'll probably claim it's to take down a rogue jet that "Instigated hostilities" or some other such rot. I need you to run interference and smooth things over with the U.N. security council. You need to tell them what's been going on, and stop the U.S. from throwing a whole fleet at us."_

"Uh-huh…sure…I'll talk to them."

_"Good. Glad to hear it." _Xanthos sounded less than convinced, but it was still an answer of agreement. _"God willing, I won't have to sink an aircraft carrier before these warhawks back off and let Light and Wily go. I'm NOT going to let a repeat of the GAIDNs happen again."_

"Good plan." Vinkus mumbled. "Anything else?"

_"Just…Darwin, I want to say that the Second Rainbow is probably the best thing I've ever helped to make with my money. And I'm glad you're there to make sure nobody screws around with it. I'm sorry it came to this, and I'll understand if you want to hang me out to dry."_

"Why would I do that?"

_"Because the Second Rainbow's an organization of peace…and maybe I was fooling myself thinking that a war profiteer could wash away his sins with a few good intentions and a couple billion dollars. Good luck to you, Darwin…Luck to us all. We'll need it."_

"Yeah. Take care." Vinkus mumbled, shutting down his phone. He let it fall on the bed, yawned once more, and let his breathing slip back into its nocturnal pattern.

Then his sleepy, clunky brain processed what Oliver Xanthos had told him…

And his eyes snapped open with a start. "WHAT?"

His phone rang again.

* * *

_The Prototype Fusion Jet Daedalus_

_Above Northern California_

_5:21 A.M._

Light walked into the front section of the _Daedalus_, which was a cockpit with several seats and panels besides. Wily was sitting at the back, while Captain Seleyna and the rest of his crew were busy either flying the plane or watching displays of the plane's condition and its surroundings.

Dr. Wily looked over his shoulder and nodded. "Feeling better?" He asked. His voice was even, but the upraised eyebrow let Thomas know he hadn't completely forgiven the outburst.

"A little." Light admitted. "That's the nice thing about my funks. They don't last long." He readjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder, making sure he still had the Metool with him.

"Outside of that first one." Wily grunted. A bit of a smile creeped over his face, and he turned around. Light relaxed a bit, and patted Wily's shoulder. As quickly as that, all was forgotten.

"So, where are we?" Light asked.

Jessica Bravewind was sitting over at the radar panel, harnessed in tight with one hand holding her headset steady. She glanced at them briefly, then flicked her eyes back to the screen. "California. Somewhere around where Napa Valley used to be."

"Damn shame about nuclear fallout and prevailing winds." Captain Seleyna sighed. "For Americans, they didn't make terrible wines. But you'll want to get strapped in, Doctor."

Light shut his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. "More trouble?" He moved next to sit down beside Wily, and set his bag on his lap.

"As it were, yes." The Captain nodded. "The _Daedalus_ is equipped with radar ablative EM shielding…unfortunately, it seems that the United States Air Force took that into account. They've been tracking us visually."

"And right now, we've got four pursuing fighters inbound. Signature indicates it's more Harbingers, and I doubt we'll get lucky a second time." He nodded to the pilot. "Up the thruster output. Let's see if this ship can't make Mach 4."

The pilot looked at him dubiously for a moment, and the Captain smiled. "We're low enough that particle concentration shouldn't be affected. Do it."

The pilot nodded in reply and pushed the throttle all the way open. The _Daedalus_ shook for a moment, and the quiet roar increased a few more decibels. The rush of G-Forces crushed into his chest, but thankfully ended after a few jaw-clenching moments.

Wily handed over a barf bag. "Here, Tom. Just in case."

"Don't need it." Tom muttered, pushing the plastic lined bag away. "It's not as bad this time."

"Mach 2.89…Mach 3…Mach 3.15…Mach 3.4…Mach 3.65, sir. We've topped out within the safe zone." The pilot called over his shoulder.

Captain Seleyna let out a sigh. "Well, I could have figured as much."

Wily folded his arms. "Let me guess…Air pressure, right? It's thick enough yet that friction remains a danger to the airframe."

Captain Seleyna nodded, impressed. "Yes, that's it exactly…I didn't know you two were into flight mechanics."

"We dabble in a bit of everything, it seems." Dr. Light smiled, glad that he hadn't tossed his cookies this time around. "A couple of years ago, we assisted Paul Beskin in designing the high-altitude ZOOS units. Guess we still remember a few things."

"Captain, I'm getting a message from our pursuers." The radio operator chirped in with a British drawl. "They're telling us to drop speed and altitude, or they'll…you know, blow us to bits. The usual routine."

"Well, let's give them the usual response then. Don't bother answering." Captain Seleyna replied. "Are they keeping up with us?"

"No, they're falling behind." Jessica smiled, tapping the radar display. "Nice to know that this thing's got legs."

"Legs, yes. But not claws." Captain Seleyna added thoughtfully. "What's our time to the rendezvous with the _Socrates?_"

"At our current speed…About four minutes."

"Cutting it close…" Marus glanced down at Light and Wily. "You two need to get back to the _Icarus_. It's stored in the rear launch bay. Jessica, take Ensign Weaver and go with them. He'll fly you in to Mr. Xanthos."

Wily stared at him, silent amidst the noise of unbuckling harnesses. "What are you driving at?" There was a hard edge in his voice. "You're not thinking that…"

"Even if we're ahead of those jets, they'll catch up with us once we launch you for the rendezvous." Marus exhaled. "And no, keeping you aboard isn't an option."

A warning sound clicked on, and the pilot swore. "Captain, they've painted us! We're laser-targeted!"

Marus shut his eyes for a moment, then smiled sadly and opened them again. "You see?" He concluded. "Your only chance is to get to the _Socrates_."

"No!" Light yelled in a panic. The same look of fear he had shown when Hastings died not hours before came back to him in a flash. "No, you can't! We're not worth it!"

Wily reached over and squeezed Light's hand warningly. "Tom, stop it." He growled. "You can't change their minds."

"Your friend is right." Captain Seleyna shrugged. "All of us here once served our countries. When madness took the world and we had nothing left to be loyal to, Mr. Xanthos brought us together and gave us something else to fight for…Humanity. We accepted the task, and its risks. You have your duty to this world, Doctor Light. Let us serve ours."

Light's eyes welled up. He would have argued more if Jessica hadn't gripped his other hand and nodded at him. "Come on. We have to get ready."

Dr. Light settled for nodding at the Captain. "Don't you dare go dying on me."

Marus's nose wrinkled up a bit as he grinned. "Perish the thought. I've too many things to do before I pay Charon his fee."

Ensign Weaver stepped to the back hatch. "Come on then, lads. We've got a dropship to catch!"

Light and Wily followed Jessica to the back of the plane and into its cargo bay. The _Icarus_ sat refueled and waiting for them, and it only took a few seconds for Ensign Weaver to power up the ship's systems.

Light and Wily strapped themselves back into the smaller ship's cabin seats, and Light handed off the duffel bag. "Here. You'd better hang onto this."

"I was just about to suggest that." Wily chuckled. "I don't know if you noticed, but they cleaned up your mess from earlier."

Light glanced around, then took a deep sniff. "You can't even smell it."

"Modern chemistry. It's an art." Dr. Wily agreed.

Jessica came back from the cockpit and secured her own harness. "Reg is about ready to launch. Are you two set?"

Wily clipped the Metool-carrying duffel bag into his harness and nodded. "As we'll ever be. Let's get the Hell out of here."

Jessica still was wearing the headset she had been since she picked them up in Colorado. She tapped the talk switch and spoke forcefully. "All right, Captain! We're set here."

_"Depressurizing the cabin, Miss Bravewind. The best of luck to you."_

"And to you." Jessica replied.

A thick hiss came from outside of the _Icarus_, and then Jessica gripped her armrests. "You'll want to grab hold of something. This next part gets a bit bumpy…"

The _Daedalus_, and _Icarus_, which still sat in the larger ship's storage bay, rapidly decelerated. Light and Wily clenched their teeth as their harnesses pressed their white lab coats deep into their skin. There was a sudden jolt, and they found themselves falling backwards…

Falling out of the hatch that suddenly opened and dropped them earthward.

The disorienting sensation that followed, along with the sound of the wind rushing by the plummeting _Icarus_ soon had Light screaming for surcease. He looked out the window and saw a thick cloud of smoky gray ash all around them. "Start the engines!"

_"Not yet!" _Ensign Weaver's voice shouted over the cabin's speaker. _"They dropped us in a cloud of dispersive particles to shield us from radar and plain view. If we start the engines up now, it'll choke the intakes and turn us into a lead balloon for sure!"_

The noise didn't go away, but the negative Gs eventually balanced out. Wily drummed a hand on the bagged Metool's helmet and shut his eyes cheerfully. Light prayed, and watched anxiously as the protective cloud around them began to dissipate in the wind.

_"One and a half miles to impact…I'm starting up the engines. Hang on lads! Either this works, or we'll be scattered across the continental shelf for sure!"_

The sound of the _Icarus's_ engines began to fill the ship, and the unmistakable vibrations that came with it started up. A few moments of gut-wrenching G's struck at them again before the dropship evened out and burned a steady course west.

Ensign Weaver let out a relieved sigh. _"We've stabilized at thirty meters. No sign of pursuit. The Harbingers are still chasing the _Daedalus_, and it looks like they've launched some missiles."_

Light gasped. "No…"

Ensign Weaver's voice laughed. _"Relax, relax. The _Daedalus_ just increased speed again. It's flying out of range. They got away scot free…and so did we. Miss Bravewind, we'll be approaching the _Socrates _shortly. I just received landing clearance."_

"Acknowledged." Jessica nodded, looking at her two charges. "See? Nothing to worry about. We made it after all."

The _Icarus_ started to slow, and Jessica unstrapped her harness. "You two might enjoy this. Come over here to the side." They agreed with the decision and followed.

She walked to the cabin's starboard hatch and popped it open. Below them, a sizable yacht floated in wait. Wily and Light glanced past Jessica to size up the mighty ship.

It seemed to be nearly one hundred and fifty feet in length, with one main hull shaped like a yacht and two catamaran-styled hulls off on the sides. It shimmered a brilliant pale blue white as the morning sun approached just enough to shatter the total darkness of night, and where one might see a swimming pool at the bow, instead there was a landing helipad. It all came closer as the VTOL dropship lowered itself down on whining turbines.

From the cockpit nearby, their radio crackled to life.

_"_Icarus_, this is Socrates, Lieutenant Jay speaking. Just like to say to you fellers, welcome aboard."_

_

* * *

  
_

They had been escorted from the helipad to the interior of the bizarre ship by Jessica, who had then introduced them to a middle-aged woman with a tough-as-nails attitude named Sally Rose. Lieutenant Daniel Jay, the "Airboss" aboard _Socrates_ who had radioed the welcome, popped in as well to drop in his own two cents in a thick Texas accent. Captain Rose had passed them off to the ship's quartermaster, Garren Talos, and excused herself back towards the bridge along with Jessica and Lieutenant Jay.

Where Oliver Xanthos was thin and somewhat handsome in his Mediterranean features, Garren was a stocky wall of muscle and thick, shaggy black hair. He walked them through the ship's relatively simple corridors until they reached an elaborate stateroom door. He knocked once, then pushed it open and smiled.

"He's waiting for you." Garren remarked. Not waiting for an answer, the swarthy Greek disappeared off for his own duties.

Light and Wily hovered by the door for a few moments longer. Wily was still carrying Light's duffel bag, and he subconsciously touched it as he considered their options. "You ready for this?"

"I just want an explanation, Al."

"We live in a mad, mad world, Tom." Dr. Wily remarked, glancing over from the corner of one dark, observant eye. "Are you sure we could handle the explanation?"

"Why?" Light asked. "Is there something you know that I don't?"

Wily smirked. "No. I'm just a skosh more paranoid than you, is all. I've already made half a dozen guesses about our mysterious benefactor." He motioned for Light to walk inside. "Knowing my luck, the answer is one I haven't thought of."

* * *

Oliver Xanthos stood at the head of a long table covered with pastries, fruits, and sumptuous meat dishes. "Please, have a seat." The billionaire philanthropist smiled at them, waving a hand at the spread. Even for as early as it was, he was dressed for the day in an undershirt, a flannel overshirt, and a pair of slacks. "I imagine that you two are quite hungry…"

"For answers." Light cut in, standing by Wily at the other end of the table in a wary pose. "Your men said you would tell us what we wanted to know."

Xanthos took the remark in stride. "Yes…Answers." He sat down, his cheerful mood dampened a bit. "Of course. But I'd feel better if the two of you had something to eat after that ordeal. You especially, Dr. Light. Jessica told me your stomach was quite unsettled. I have a Consommé here which should soothe your nerves. The chef aboard is very good at his duties."

Light looked searchingly at Wily, and his friend shrugged nonchalantly, twisting his mustache. "I never was one to pass up free food. I just hope that this feast isn't the so-called "Convict's Last Meal." He moved towards the center of the table, closer to Xanthos, and Dr. Light followed suit.

Xanthos laughed and scooped up a slice of flatbread with olives and melted parmesan. "Quite the opposite. The two of you are at the beginning of a new life. I'm just relieved that those medallions I gave you served their purpose." He stared at his slice of flatbread for a moment. "I…understand that someone close to you died in your escape from the Conference Center. You have my sympathies." He took a bite of his food, chewed it thoughtfully for a moment, and swallowed. "Would you two care for some coffee?"

"Never turned down a cup of coffee in my life." Dr. Light answered dryly. "But you haven't answered my question yet, Oliver, and to be honest, you're starting to scare me."

"No, I don't scare you." The billionaire sighed, picking up a bell and ringing it. Waitstaff appeared two seconds later, and Oliver motioned to Light and Wily. "Some coffee for our guests." The waiter disappeared back into the kitchen, and Oliver put the bell aside and folded his hands. "What scares you is what a man like me is doing with this much advanced military hardware. After all, a fellow with as much money as I have, with this kind of equipment must surely have some dark ambitions, yes?" He arched an eyebrow at the end of the question, looking for a response.

The waiter reappeared with a carafe of coffee and quickly poured the two scientists a cup each. Wily nodded to the man, then looked at Xanthos. "I personally just thought you were an eccentric collector."

"In part." Oliver smiled. "Though I prefer my collections to be of fine wines. My own family's vintage chief among them…which, sadly, only exists in the bottles of my private storehouses thanks to the Wars. I don't consider the _Icarus, Daedalus, _or this ship, the _Socrates_ to be a part of any collection. They're merely modes of conveyance."

"Piloted by your own personal army." Wily pointed out. "All of them carry some form of military rank and training."

"True." Xanthos nodded, resting his fingers in front of his lips. "The truth is…The man I am today is far different from who I used to be. My family did own the vineyard and brand of Xaros Fields. Unfortunately, I was the youngest member of a very large family. There was to be little inheritance for me when our parents moved on. The older brothers would get the farm, so to speak. So I took what meager sums I had, built up a web of connections…and became a black market weapons dealer. You might have heard of me. Though I was never captured, many intelligence agencies worldwide came to know my shadowy, elusive persona of Mr. X."

The name dropped like a stone into a still pond; loudly, and with ripples that stretched out towards everything.

"Let me guess." Dr. Light mused with a growl. "You made a killing. Pun intended."

Xanthos closed his eyes. The barbed comment had struck home, and Light instantly regretted it.

"Yes." Their benefactor finally whispered. "Yes. I made my fortune off of the death and misery of far too many people in the world." He opened his eyes and watched them carefully as he went on. Wily was listening without judgment. Light was clearly struggling with his own feelings. "I fashioned myself after the fabled Captain Nemo. I was without allegiance, save for my men and myself. After the Wars began, I walked on no land, for even my base in Antarctica was built on frozen water. In this way, I survived, and watched despairingly as the world I began to love destroyed itself."

He paused, and waited. Wily drummed his fingers on the table and popped a grape in his mouth. Light stayed silent.

Dr. Wily finally broke the silence. "So how much did you make during the Wars, then?"

"Nothing." Mr. X replied. "Not long before the Wars started, I had all my assets withdrawn and put into physical commodities and supplies…Supplies which were stored in secret for years, until the Treaty of Canberra made the CTWRC, or the Second Rainbow as you all renamed it, possible. The profits I make today are from innovations meant to repair this damaged world, not to tear it apart."

"Like Treeborg Industries." Light inferred. "I was told you had something to do with Hyrmue's funding."

Mr. X smiled. "A wonderful idea which only needed funding and support to make it reality. Hyrmue was a good investment. So was the Second Rainbow."

"Is that what we are, then?" Wily asked acidly. "An investment?"

Oliver scratched at his thinning black hair. "No. No, you two are something more. I consider you friends. We all have something in common, you see…We are atoning for our past sins by salvaging this world of ashes piece by piece. I do not have your scientific genius, or your vision. All I have is my blood money, and I have spent as much as possible to ease the suffering of others."

"And you think that all of this makes up for it?" Dr. Light demanded. "You're Mr. X, by your own admission! I remember hearing that name in some newscasts twelve years ago. You were connected with countless arms sales to radical groups in Africa and Europe!"

"I don't need you to provide a laundry list of my sins, Thomas." Oliver growled, calling on the barest hint of fury. "I know what they are, and I know I can never make up for them."

"So why go to all this trouble?" Wily asked, waving a hand about to encompass the grand and oversized tri-catamaran yacht they sat on. "If you've accepted that nothing you do can make up for the sins of Mr. X…why bother at all? What are you trying to do?"

Xanthos sat there for a while longer, mulling it over. He surprised both of the robot designers when he let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

"Unbelievable." He sighed, setting his face into his hand. "How long ago did Jessica ask me that same question?" Oliver closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I told her then that I didn't know yet. And I think I still don't. All these years later, all this work, and I am no better off than when this mess began."

"I find that fact so encouraging." Wily muttered. "Are you insane?"

"Someone once said that all hope and charity was madness." Mr. X exhaled. He righted himself and chewed some more flatbread, giving his guests time to work on their own meal as well. After a minute or so of quiet reflection, he spoke again. "One talent I would have had, regardless of my career, was my ability to read people. If I spent enough time with someone, I could discover what motivated them, their dreams, their aspirations, and even their fears. It was what made me such a good salesman. You don't make money by giving people what they want. You make it by _telling them what they want_, and making them believe in it. I quit using that gift to manipulate people when I gave up the business, but the talent's primary edge never disappears." He folded his arms and rested them on his chest. "The people who saved you tonight…Everyone who crews one of my vessels, was brought in because in some part, they objected to the whole of this world's madness and thirst for destruction. I gave them something else to believe in. I gave the world something to believe in by giving supplies and aid to the Second Rainbow. Now, it sustains itself, but for a time, as Darwin Vinkus could attest, it was largely because of me the organization breathed at all."

Xanthos pointed a tired finger at them. "I could tell you I saved the both of you because I consider you friends, and you wouldn't believe me. After everything you've gone through, you're hard pressed to believe in anything, I would imagine. Just as I am, you are now expatriates."

"You're honest, at least." Dr. Light nodded. "So why did you help us? Why give us the medallions, expose yourself and risk so much to save us? And please, _please_, don't tell us that you did it because we're worth more than the people who died."

"All Tom's usual dramatics aside, I'm afraid he's right." Wily seconded, sipping down Xanthos's gourmet coffee. "You're too much of a shrewd businessman to be motivated entirely by idealism, even guilt-sustained idealism. So what's your angle?"

Xanthos cracked a grin, and all pretense dropped away. There once more was the man they had gotten drunk with in the world's darkest hours.

"I just couldn't stand the thought of those shitheels you worked for getting rich off of your inventions again."

Dr. Wily laughed, and raised his cup. "I'll drink to that."

"Amen." Dr. Light concluded. The three toasted each other, and got back to breakfast. The air was lighter after that.

* * *

"I tell yuh, all this trouble? For those two?" Lieutenant Jay exclaimed. "I know they're minor celebrities, experts'n their field, but Mr. Xanthos never mobilized this much manpower before!"

He stood in the bridge of the _Socrates_, with Jessica standing by the window and lost in her own thoughts, and Captain Rose listening with only one ear. She kept her eyes on the still dark western horizon.

"It's unprecedented, I'll grant you that." She answered. "And it's definitely risky. The _Daedalus_ got away, but they had it targeted with LGMs before it outpaced pursuit."

"What in tarnation is he thinkin?" The Airboss demanded. "It's downright reckless, is what it is! He might've exposed our entire operation!"

Captain Rose smiled. "We can't always keep our emotions in check. You know the story about those two, don't you? Light, and Dr. Wily in particular?"

"Don't think there isn't anyone who doesn't know that Wily got scapegoated for those GAIDNs." Jay grumbled. "Makes me glad I deserted when I did. It ain't right, what they did to him. But I don't know if Id've pulled this stunt to get 'em out of there."

Jessica Bravewind had been standing on the port side of the bridge's front window. Her arms unfolded, and she looked over to the two crewmembers of the _Socrates_, who were alone at the end of the graveyard shift. "But we have, because Mr. Xanthos felt it was the right thing to do." She stepped towards them, as guarded as ever. "I recall that he saved you from a similar fate once, Captain Rose. And you, Lieutenant Jay."

The Texan scowled and scuffed his shoe on the floor. Captain Rose nodded. "By all accounts, I should have died of exposure after my ship was lost. I owe my life to Mr. Xanthos, but I am not sure if this was the wisest course."

"Oliver believes in giving people second chances." Jessica answered softly. "So do I. He is a fisher of men: He pulled you from the sea, and he fished them out of a lion's den."

"And what about you?" Lieutenant Jay asked, stretching the last word so it sounded like _ewwwww._ "How'd old Xanthos pick you up?"

Oliver Xanthos' secretary and bodyguard offered a cryptic smile and shrugged her shoulders. "Kind of the same way."

A sudden beeping from the bridge's navigation and geo-positioning display broke them from their reverie. Captain Rose quickly ran over and brought the monitor out of powersave mode.

Her face darkened. "Marvelous."

Jessica drummed her fingers on her arm. "Let me guess. Uninvited guests."

Captain Rose nodded. She looked at Daniel Jay. "Wake everyone up. It looks like we'll be getting an early start today."

* * *

"Oh, come off it." Light laughed, pausing long enough to jam another egg-crusted phyllo dumpling down his craw. "You've been…mmmph…Dodging this question for years! Come clean this time. Are you boffing Jessica or not?"

"Inquiring minds want to know." Wily added, pushing himself away from the expansive buffet with a full stomach and a satisfied sigh.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Oliver managed stiffly. Wily slipped on a dreamy smile and looked over to Light.

"Yeah, he is."

"I concur, Dr. Wily." Light agreed, adopting a stern and serious tone. "He is clearly 'hitting that."

"I don't _have_ to answer that question, you know." Xanthos grumbled.

"Failing to say no indicated a positive in our eyes." Wily finished smugly. "But this was a good spread for breakfast. Thanks, Ollie."

Xanthos winced at the nickname. "Just…Oliver. Please. And you're welcome."

A nearby in-ship communications panel gave off a low beep, then Jessica's voice cut in. _"I hope I'm not disturbing you, sir." _She began crisply.

"Not at all." Light chuckled, cutting in before Oliver could answer. "We were just talking about you."

Failing to hide his beet red face, Oliver ignored the grins from his two friends and faced the speaker. "What is it, Jessica?"

_"We're tracking a hydrofoil destroyer bearing down on our position rapidly. IF/F says it's American. We've been found out, sir."_

"And here I was, hoping for a quiet getaway." Xanthos muttered. He looked at the ceiling, sighed, and moved on. "Muster the rest of the crew."

_"Already doing it, sir."_

"Oh? Good. Then contact Captain Rotillo and plot a course out, flank speed."

_"Very well, sir." _Jessica's icy voice cut out, and Xanthos reached for his bell. Another ring brought the waiter back in from the kitchen.

"Box this all up." Oliver said, pointing to the feast left very much untouched. "I'm sure the crew will want a good breakfast in them this morning."

"Trouble, sir?" The servant asked. He quickly began to bus the table, scooping up plates with practiced ease.

"Oh, just the usual these days, it seems." Xanthos understated. He looked at Light and Wily. "If you two are willing, I'd love to get your help in passing out breakfast. Things are liable to get dicey around here."

"They're sure going to a lot of trouble to get us back." Wily muttered. He nearly lost his footing when the ship lurched forward in a sudden burst of speed and lifted up. "What in the…!"

"The newest Navy destroyers are equipped with hydrofoils and impellers that allow them to reach speeds over 300 english nautical miles per hour." Xanthos reassured him, balancing on far steadier sea legs. "The trick is, so are we." He grinned. "All we have to do is cause more trouble than they're willing to put up with."

* * *

_The Experimental Trimaran Socrates_

_Eastern Pacific Ocean_

_August 27__th__, 2052 C.E._

_6:40 A.M._

A bleary-eyed, but alert bridge crew manned their stations with focused dedication. The _Socrates_ soared along at a comfortable 350 nautical miles per hour, and Xanthos, Light and Wily hovered on the fringes of the bustling noise. They had come bearing the leftovers of their meal to the hungry and grateful crew, which munched away on fruits, meats, and pastries, relaying critical information to Captain Rose between mouthfuls.

"It's no good, captain. We're maxed out and bordering on the red zone. That Navy destroyer is just too fast." The Navigation officer explained, already reaching for a second cruller from his employer's platter. "They're going to catch up with us."

The radio, which was set on vox, agreed with his assessment. _"Attention, Socrates. This is the _U.S.S. Redoubt. _Cut your engines and weight anchor. You are carrying a jet wanted in connection with the kidnapping of two United States citizens, the deaths of American operatives, and willful violation of U.S. airspace. We will board your vessel and perform a thorough inspection. Failure to comply with these orders will result in the use of deadly force."_

Xanthos wandered to the back of the bridge and set his tray of pastries down. He glanced over to Wily, who had finished his own trip around the room a few moments earlier. "Have you ever noticed how similar a phrase like that is to a bully's standard rigamarole? _Do what I tell you, or I'll beat you up?"_

"All governments are commanded by tyrants." Wily ran a hand through what was left of his pepper-black and gray hair. "It's when they're belligerent as well that you have problems."

Captain Rose glanced back at Xanthos. "We might be able to surprise them if this comes to blows, but we're not a true warship. We can dish it out, but they've got armor plating. All we've got is plasteel reinforced fiberglass. What's your call, sir?"

Light was over by the weapons officer, pouring him a cup of rehydrated coffee. He noticed that every set of eyes in the room turned towards Xanthos for the answer.

The forty-something billionaire stroked at his chin for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. "You know, I'm getting really tired of this cat and mouse game. Let's try diplomacy first, shall we?"

He walked over to the radio operator. "Put me through. I want to talk to them."

"Yes, sir." The operator handed him a headset. "I've already patched us in to their frequency. Go ahead and talk; they'll hear you."

Xanthos slipped the headset on and cleared his throat. "_Redoubt? _This is Oliver Xanthos. Who am I speaking to?"

_"Captain Jeffrey Short." _Came the curt response. _"Mr. Xanthos, your ship is surprisingly close to U.S. territorial waters."_

"But outside of them." Xanthos said. "And we _were_ when you started chasing us. This kidnapping charge is ludicrous. Who, supposedly, was kidnapped anyhow?"

_"It's refreshing to hear that you don't dispute the other charges." _Captain Short remarked. _ "Doctors Light and Wily, two speakers at the international robotics conference in Colorado Springs, were taken away. Officers were badly injured trying to rescue them from personnel in the jet sitting on your bow."_

"Bullshit." Wily grumbled under his breath. Xanthos smiled, but let the comment slide.

"You know, I always preferred the term 'Symposium' myself." Xanthos told Captain Short. "Kidnapped? No. They called asking for my assistance, and I rendered it. They are aboard my ship as friends and honored guests."

_"You'll understand if I don't believe you." _Captain Short remarked candidly. _"Just so you're aware, we do have a firing solution on your ship."_

"One would expect you to have one by now." Xanthos muttered. "So you don't believe me? Fine. Let me put them on the horn for you." He motioned to Light and Wily, then tapped the radio operator's shoulder. "Can you put us on speakerphone?"

Two clicks was all it took before the radio operator smiled. "Done."

Xanthos put the now disconnected headset down and nodded at the scientists, each standing in a different place on the bridge. "You're on, fellas."

Light set the coffee thermos down and blinked. "Well, what do I say?"

"You could try hello." Wily offered.

"What, just _hello? _That doesn't seem punchy enough."

"For God's sake, Tom, it's just hello! It doesn't have to be punchy!" Wily snapped.

"Well, yeah, but I want it to. I mean, we're trying to keep them from shooting at us."

_"No need to elaborate, Dr. Light." _Captain Short interrupted. _"Voice identification matches…no trace of duping or dubbing. Your voice signature matched as well, Dr. Wily. Perhaps you would care to explain what you were doing on board a jet responsible for shooting down two of our Harbinger aircraft?"_

"Easy." Light replied. "They wouldn't leave us alone. That ship was rescuing us AFTER we were kidnapped…By Dran Grevis."

_"Grevis?!"_ Short exclaimed. _"Grevis is in prison. He's BEEN in prison."_

"Until they let him out." Wily jumped in. "He tried to force us into giving up our robots, to make weapons for him."

_"Doctors, as fascinating as that sounds, it seems like a very desperate lie." _Captain Short pointed out. His patience seemed to be waning. _"I have orders to return you back to the country for questioning, and to arrest your kidnappers."_

"What, are you saying you don't believe us?" Light asked.

_"That is exactly what I'm saying. Either you're being coerced to say this, or you're involved. So tell Xanthos to shut down his engines and drop anchor, or I'm going to put a hole through his ship."_

"Look, this doesn't involve you." Wily cautioned the man. "You don't want to go down this road. You don't know what Xanthos is capable of. Hell, **I** don't know what he's capable of. All we want is to be left alone, you understand?"

"Look, Captain, I can appreciate that you're in a bind, and I assure you, I don't want trouble." Mr. Xanthos cut in. "But I made a promise to these two to get them to safety, and I mean to keep it."

_"Either you kill your engines, or I sink you." _Captain Short stated coldly.

Xanthos sighed. "That's it?"

_"That's it."_

"…Fine."

Xanthos pounded the radio's disconnect switch and growled an oath in Greek. "I hate military bureaucracies." He glanced up at Captain Rose. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Orders, sir?"

"Park it, and secure all quarters for shutdown." Xanthos muttered. "We tried diplomacy, and that didn't work."

The bridge crew scrambled, and Light gave Xanthos a horrified expression. "That's it? You're giving up?"

Xanthos blinked. "Giving up? No, not hardly. I just told the crew to ready the ship for shutdown."

"In God's name, why?" Wily demanded irritably. "We're sitting ducks now!"

"Yes." Xanthos smiled, his upturned lips showing the hints of something hidden coming into play. "Appearances, fellows. We look harmless, therefore we are harmless. Relatively. More importantly, their attention is focused on us…and trust me, we'll want every system on board turned off and secured for interference. We'll want to be able to get out of here afterwards."

"After what?" Light demanded.

The radio operator cleared his throat. "Sir? It's Captain Rotillo." He handed up the headset again, and Xanthos grinned at Light one last time.

"You want to know another reason I was so good at my job, Dr. Light? I was a meticulous planner…and I always made sure the deck was loaded."

He pressed the headset against his cheek. "Captain Rotillo? This is X. You have a go for launch. Knockout FEMPM only."

He put the headset down and nodded at the radioman. "Kill it."

Like the rest of the ship, which began to lurch to a halt, the radio went silent. The sudden change in momentum caused Wily to stumble forward a bit, and when he rose to get up, he vomited on the floor.

Light stared for a moment, then laughed. "I guess you're not so invincible after all, Al."

"I hate sailing." The mad scientist grumbled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He looked over to Xanthos, eager to change the topic. "What's FEMPM?"

Xanthos pointed to the horizon out of the starboard window, and the fast approaching destroyer, which appeared as a silvery dot on the waves. "Focused Electromagnetic Pulse Missile." He answered. "Just watch. Good things come in threes."

* * *

_The Nuclear Submarine "Archimedes"_

_3.2 Nautical miles SSW of the Socrates_

_220 meters deep_

Captain Saul Rotillo clipped the handset to the periscope's communication panel. He pulled his glasses from his jumpsuit's breast pocket and put them on. The crew of the _Archimedes_, a converted _Virginia_-class submarine waited for the order. The captain pressed a switch that withdrew the small sonar antenna back into the ship, then spoke.

"Weapons Control, prep for submersed missile launch. Load tube 1 with a FEMPM."

"Loading tube 1, aye Captain." The weapons officer replied. He quickly punched in the command, relaying the instructions to the torpedo bay in the nose of the heavily modified ship.

Forty years ago, the _Virginia_ class of submarines had been built as the replacement to the _Los Angeles_ class after the _Seawolf_ class had proven to be too expensive. Captain Rotillo had never questioned how exactly Xanthos had gotten his hand on the outdated relic, but the ship itself had been gutted and completely overhauled.

The _Archimedes_ looked like something that belonged in a naval museum, but it was a predator in seas: Silent and well-armed, it mostly kept to itself when it wasn't moored at the Antarctic base "Elysium" for repairs and resupply. Rotillo and his crew, all veteran submariners, preferred it that way. Submen were a more withdrawn lot by the nature of their job.

Captain Rotillo glanced over to his Executive Officer, or XO, Commander Jonas Fleet. The Minnesotan's skin was pale white to begin with, and hadn't gotten any better in the confines of the floating tin can they called home. Rotillo imagined even his own Tijuana tan would die out soon at the rate they were going. "XO, take us up to launch depth."

"Aye, Captain." Commander Fleet saluted crisply. He called across the room to the dive officer. "Make your depth six-zero meters!"

"Make my depth 60 meters, aye." The dive officer pulled back on the wheel, and the _Archimedes_ started to rise. As it came shallow, the hull creaked and groaned around them. Nobody gave it a second thought, as pressure was a given.

"Tube 1 is loaded with a FEMPM launch capsule, captain." Weapons control called up.

"Very well." The captain, along with his XO, held onto the bridge guardrails as the _Archimedes_ angled its nose up in the continuing climb.

In the silence that followed, the XO leaned over and whispered through a smile. "You think they have any idea that they're about to be turned into a $250 million floating pile of fused electronics and scrap metal?"

"I doubt that, _Norteño"_ Captain Rotillo replied, using his nickname for the pale American. "I don't know if I would have used a FEMPM myself. We've got IDAS missiles that would have worked just as well."

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe Mr. X is being merciful."

"Something you learn quickly about Mr. X, amigo, is that there's always a hidden meaning in what he does."

"Depth is now 60 meters, sirs!" The submarine leveled back out, and the captain sat back down in his command chair.

"Very well." He nodded to the weapons officer. "Fire the launch capsule."

Outside of the _Archimedes_, the torpedo launcher blurted out a buoyant capsule which quickly rose to the surface. A wire attached at the bottom of the weapon kept the FEMPM tethered to the _Archimedes_, and it kept going until it broke the surface of the water above.

One quick command caused the nose of the capsule to blow apart, and the missile that had been safely protected inside of its dry cocoon shot out in a storm of belching flame and smoke.

Back underwater, the _Archimedes_ cut the wire to the now useless launch capsule remains and slipped off silently into the waters of North America's continental shelf. Its task done, it left as quietly as it had arrived…

Unseen, unheard, but certainly felt.

* * *

The FEMPM missile was a byproduct of the Wars of 2040, the last gasp of high technology in the field of offensive nuclear weapons. Charged with a minute amount of radioactive material, not enough to cause harmful exposure, the FEMPM blazed a trail towards the _U.S.S. Redoubt. _The launch had taken the destroyer completely by surprise, and they had been forced to drop out of high speed mode to ready their missile tracking autoguns. A hail of metal rushed out from the destroyer's artillery, tracking in on the very visible and dangerous missile.

Unlike the Exocets that Captain Rotillo had wanted to use, the FEMPM didn't play by the standard rules. One mile out from the ship, anticipating the incoming fire, the missile broke apart of its own accord, faking destruction. As expected, the guns fell silent.

It was then that the FEMPM's true capabilities appeared. With its radar profile obliterated, a much smaller detonating device glided towards the navy ship, carrying just enough power in its capacitors to unleash the fury of the trace amount of Uranium.

Long ago, scientists had realized that nuclear explosions also released an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP wave, that disabled electronic devices within its affected area. Figuring out how to harness the devastating ability without the side effects of a true explosion, heat and blast, and most importantly, fallout, had taken a considerable amount of time.

The first sign aboard the _Redoubt_ that something was wrong was a bright flash only fifty feet off from the side of the ship. The effective range of the FEMPM's disabling touch was only four hundred feet from the point of release…but that was enough to fry every system aboard.

The _U.S.S. Redoubt_ lurched to a crawl, going dead in the water and sitting at the mercy of the battering ocean waves. One and a half miles away, the _Socrates_ powered itself back up and spun about.

The stunned bridge crew of the naval destroyer had another agonizing surprise when a focused beam of high intensity sound blasted right at them. A long-range acoustic device, or LRAD…Used as a loudspeaker.

_"I'm taking Light and Wily to a place where they'll be safe. You get to live today, gentlemen, because I'm trying to turn over a new leaf. But you tell whoever comes to pick you up and tow your heap back to shore that if anyone else comes after us, my patience on staying away from lethal force might wane."_

The _Socrates_ lifted up out of the water on its hydrofoils and blazed a course westwards, taking Oliver Xanthos, Albert Wily, and Thomas Light into the heart of the Pacific Ocean.

This time, nothing followed them.

* * *

_SRHQ, Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_7:10 A.M._

Inside of his office, a hastily dressed and very irritated Darwin Vinkus paced about, living in disorder. He had his phone on speaker, and he was listening to it ring. Just…ringing. Not stopping. It wasn't an incoming ring, either. It was outgoing, and he was livid.

"Pick UP, you dirty son of a…"

_Click._

_"Oliver Xanthos. Is that you, Darwin?"_

Darwin whirled around on his heels. "YES, it's me!" He snapped angrily. "What in the Hell is going on, Oliver? I've got United States military personnel banging at the doorstep of Second Rainbow Headquarters here. Paul van Hostick is about ready to hang you out to dry, because you know how much of a _pushover_ he is when it comes to morons and guns. And to top matters off, I've got a conference call meeting with the U.N. Security Council in fifteen God-Damn minutes where I have to try and explain just **what the HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!"**

Xanthos was silent for a moment. He settled on a weak chuckle. _"It sounds like your morning's been as interesting as ours. I thought you might like to know, Dr. Light and Dr. Wily are safely aboard my ship. We're sailing out into the Pacific Ocean. And what I told you before, although I get the feeling you only heard half of it, is true. Dran Grevis kidnapped them, held them in a sub-basement of the Conference Center in Colorado Springs. It seems like the U.S. decided that our two wonder boys could give them new weapons to play with."_

"Oliver, I've gotten reports of mysterious aircraft doing flyovers over U.S. airspace. Shooting down planes. Ignoring direct orders to land. And not two minutes ago, I just got word from a very irate Rear Admiral in CINCOMPAC that a Navy destroyer was knocked out of commission with an EMP missile. They're saying you're responsible for it."

_"They're right."_

"They're…" Vinkus started. He blinked widely several times, then let out a groan and set his face in his hands. "What am I going to do with you? What do I tell these people, huh?"

_"You tell them the truth. You tell them that I saved Light and Wily from being kidnapped by their own _country_ and being turned into literal slaves. Then you tell them that I'm not looking for trouble, but if they want to push this, push me, I've stored away enough firepower to make their lives Hell in the process."_

"How in blazes did you get your hands on all this equipment, huh?"

_"The same way I got all the supplies, the food, the medicine, the equipment that we used to start up the Second Rainbow five years ago, Darwin. Black market."_

"…What?"

_"Darwin, I've already told Light and Wily. You deserve to hear it, too. There's no going back after this, and it's going to come out anyway, so you might as well hear it from me. I was a black market arms dealer before the Wars started. My codename was Mr. X."_

Darwin looked at his phone as if it had suddenly sprouted devil horns. "You're shitting me."

_"I wouldn't joke about something this serious."_

"You're a…a…weapons dealer?!"

_"I was. Not anymore. Not for twelve years."_

"Still, Oliver, there's going to be ramifications for this!" Vinkus exclaimed. "I can't protect you, you understand? I'll have to report you, and then they'll come and arrest you, take you to trial!"

_"I understand. I knew the risk I was taking going into this rescue operation." _Xanthos said sternly. _"I'll turn myself in to the United Nations. And only the United Nations. But right now, I need you to do me one last favor."_

"Oliver, there's not much that I can…"

_"Please."_

Vinkus sighed, and dragged a hand through his hair. He looked at the ceiling. "Yeah. What is it?"

_"I'm pretty sure that the U.S. Navy is planning to throw everything at us they possibly can. You said you were going into a meeting of the U.N. Security Council? I need you to make sure they back off. I'm not turning Light and Wily back in. They haven't done anything wrong, and their country wants to make prisoners out of them again."_

"You want me to convince one of the few remaining military powers in the world to sit on their asses while you sail away scot free?" Vinkus rephrased dubiously.

_"If you want Light and Wily to be able to come back and keep working as members of the Second Rainbow…and if you want to make sure I go on trial for my crimes…then that's your only choice."_

"This isn't going to be easy." Vinkus started pacing again. "You've ruined millions of dollars of military hardware. The people working on your ships are responsible for injuring government agents."

_"Everything they did was in self-defense."_

"Just…Just tell me one thing. And I urge you. If you want me to keep your ass intact, you've got to be completely honest." Vinkus turned and stared at his phone. "Have you killed anyone in this escapade?"

_"…No. No, Darwin. I'm tired of death."_

Vinkus let out his held breath. "That's something then. I'll see what I can do. Sit tight for now, don't do anything stupid like provoking more trouble."

_"There's one more question I had for you."_

"Meeting, Oliver. Remember? Make it quick."

_"Just…Light and Wily can't go back to the United States. They'd get scooped up and we'd never hear from them again. I don't even think it's safe for them to be at the SRHQ anymore, since it's in Alaska. I'm pretty sure that you'll have agents trying to move in and seize their work soon. So where do I take them? I don't know where they'll be safe anymore."_

"Let me think about it for a while." Vinkus muttered. He reached down and pushed the disconnect button, then headed out of his office. Dr. Xiang's work on holographic displays had allowed them to set up a conference room at the other end of the building where they could hold meetings with holographic images of people around the world who had the same equipment. It was there he'd have to try and put out the firestorm Xanthos had walked into, if not made…

And there was plenty to think about. He took care of one thing by reaching down to his belt and pulling up his walkie-talkie. They were carried by several other high members of the SRHQ staff, including…

"Hostick. You there?"

_"Vinkus? I just got a call. The local FBI branch office from Juneau is sending out a pair of agents to seize all of Light and Wily's projects and data. I don't like this kind of trouble."_

"I don't care what you like." Vinkus growled back. "You tell those agents that they're not setting one FOOT on SRHQ grounds. We're an international consortium, and we don't answer to them."

_"But, Darwin, they…"_

"They're bullies and blowhards following orders they don't understand. Introduce some sanity into the equation for a change, Paul. Stop them, and put some security guards around Light's laboratory. Nobody gets in, nobody gets out. And if they have a problem with that, you remind them that the only government agency we answer to is the United Nations, so they can take it up with ME." Vinkus snarled the last word, bristling under his skin. "Now go and do your freaking job. I've got a meeting with the U.N. Security Council I need to get to, and I've got to try and convince them to stand down before Xanthos burns half the world to save those two."

He clicked the walkie-talkie off and started powerwalking the rest of the way through the corridors. Thankfully, they were empty. He would have run over anyone in his way.

"Oh yeah, today's just going to be _GREAT._"

* * *

"You mean to tell me that Oliver Xanthos is in fact, the notorious arms dealer Mr. X?" Representative Lemieux asked. Unlike the others' holographic representations, he at least gave Vinkus a measure of respect- likely due to their past history of working together.

Darwin Vinkus nodded resignedly. "He was. He said he gave it up shortly before the Wars."

"Bollocks." The British representative muttered. "He can say he's changed all he likes, but the evidence is against him. As much force as he's exerted on whim alone over the last hours, he's as dangerous as he ever was. Moreso now that he's been exposed."

The U.S. representative, Jonas Dickson, was clearly irate. He springboarded from the warning into a new tirade. "He is clearly a danger. I propose we take a vote to let the United States Navy deal with this threat."

"Stuff your vote." Vinkus growled warningly. "You probably already have more units closing in on his ship while I'm sitting here yammering at your photonic doppelgangers."

The straight-laced suit's hologram stood up. "Are you implying that we would take unilateral action without consulting the Security Council first?"

The Chinese representative harrumphed and folded his hands together. Thanks to the now standardized network translation matrix designed by Dr. Light, his Mandarin came across in accented, but flawless English. "Your country has proven it is willing to do just that at least five times over the last 50 years, councilor."

"I resent that remark! We are no worse than any of the other nations represented in this meeting!"

"Says the country who poisoned the world with the GAIDN robots! The blood spilled by them is on YOUR hands!" The Chinese diplomat snarled back.

Vinkus had been feeling a headache coming on ever since he started the long walk to the meeting. As much as he favored the democratic process and valued discussion, the bickering and infighting usually led him to getting migraines.

"Listen to yourselves!" Vinkus exploded, silencing all of them with a rage that had been building for years. "This world is being fixed, but we're still dangling by a _thread._ I joined the United Nations as a representative because I believed that it was the only organization left where cooler heads prevailed in committee. Now I'm listening to all of you exhibiting the same behaviors that got us into this mess!"

"You cannot deny that what Xanthos has done, both in the last few hours and in years past, cannot be overlooked." The British representative reminded him.

"I know that." Vinkus growled wearily, leaning forward in his chair. "And he will answer for his actions…his…crimes." He hesitated to say the last word, for it fell like a nail through his heart. "Oliver has agreed to surrender himself to United Nations authority, once he has brought Dr. Light and Dr. Wily to a place where they will not be accosted."

Dickson wasn't convinced. "He is holding United States citizens hostage. My government demands…"

Vinkus raised his hand so sharply that the blustering representative's mouth snapped shut. Darwin leveled an icy gaze at the man's image. "From what I've been told, Doctors Light and Wily were hostages within the country. Xanthos merely helped to free them."

"Preposterous." The U.S. ambassador scoffed, causing his hologram to flicker for a moment. "Our nation has repaid its debt to those two brave patriots. Nobody would want to harm them."

"Dran Grevis did." Darwin explained coldly. Stunned expressions from every holographic representation bored into him.

"Dran Grevis is in prison." The U.S. diplomat stated flatly.

Vinkus pressed his fingertips together. "Perhaps. But Xanthos, who was informed by Light and Wily, told me otherwise." He didn't budge an inch. "For now, let's agree to disagree on that particular point. In the meantime, we have a situation where the usual methods of brute force and military supremacy just aren't going to cut it. To say nothing about the fact that I detest you wasting valuable resources on making more weapons of war, you cannot take down Xanthos in a rush of fire. He's shown enough resources that you should be able to figure he'd make you pay dearly for it…not just in hardware, but in lives." Vinkus, despite his feelings, kept to using stern, but logical reasoning against the warlike spirits in conference. "And that's only what we've seen. He's Mr. X. It stands to reason he has a lot more in reserve that he hasn't pulled out yet. You say he's a threat. His equipment surely is, but the man himself has changed. When the world needed a miracle, he delivered the goods and materiel which made the CTWRC…the Second Rainbow…possible. You want Light and Wily back? Then let them come back on their own, if that's their wish. You won't get them back if you sink Xanthos's boat, and we won't learn the truth about Xanthos's empire either. There is only one solution which defuses the situation, ends the threat, and sees Light and Wily safe."

Vinkus pursed his lips. "You tell your government to pull their troops, their ships, their planes back. You let Xanthos sail free for the moment, and he'll surrender."

"Surrender to who?" The Australian representative, the odd man out on the Security Council, asked. "Whoever we sent to pick him up…what's to keep Xanthos from shooting them down?"

Vinkus shut his eyes, and felt more years pass him by with another heartbreaking thought.

"I'll bring him in." Vinkus muttered. He opened his eyes, and nodded at the holograms. "He was…**IS**…my friend. And I'd like to think he's not so far gone he would start offing friends to escape."

"He'll kill you." Dickson argued.

"Has he killed anyone yet?" Vinkus interrupted.

"Well, he…"

"Answer the Goddamned question." Vinkus snarled, pulling on an intensity that would forevermore be his hallmark in the years to come. _"Has he killed anyone?!"_

The American bit his lip. "No." He feebly replied.

"Then I don't have much to worry about from him." Vinkus concluded. "I propose a new course of action for this body to vote on, as I can't myself. The proposal is that the United States withdraws its forces, and lets Xanthos complete his 'rescue mission.' I will then go and take Oliver Xanthos into custody. Dr. Light and Wily will be allowed to go wherever they please, and an international board of inquiry will collaborate with the FBI in looking into the charges leveled against Dran Grevis."

The Chinese representative finally relaxed. "I second the motion." He agreed.

Dickson's eyes were wide. "Now, wait just a…"

"The motion has been seconded." The British representative interjected, cutting the protest off. "We will now put it to a vote. All those in favor of Darwin Vinkus's proposal to resolve this crisis, signify your vote by a raised hand."

Six hands went up, with only the American's staying down by his waist. The man scowled as he looked around the unfriendly room, and finally raised his own to give it the unanimous vote it required.

"Maybe this will prove that the mentality of unilateral action you all believe my nation guilty of doesn't exist." He concluded darkly.

The British ambassador counted the votes. "It's decided then. Representative Vinkus, you are to contact Mr. Xanthos and inform him of this council's decision. You might also let him know that you will be bringing him to New Amsterdam once you have taken him into custody. Representative Dickson? You are to inform your government that Interpol agents will be arriving in the Colorado Springs area to look into this accusation of Dran Grevis being alive and active in illicit pursuits. Make sure that the FBI cooperates."

Dickson shook his head. "A brave new world we live in." He muttered. "We've traded one single-headed tyrant for another with one hundred." His image disappeared, and soon after, the rest followed.

Left alone in the empty conference room, Darwin Vinkus slumped back into his chair. As quickly as it had come, the anger washed out of him.

"Oliver…why?"

* * *

_Central Pacific Ocean (80 miles SSE of Hawaii)_

_The _Socrates

_10:42 A.M._

"Got any threes?" Dr. Wily asked, staring intently into his hand.

"Go fish." Light answered, not bothering to look up from his own cards. Wily muttered an oath and reached for the deck. Jessica Bravewind was sitting by them, actually relaxing for a rare change by playing in the game with them. Ensign Weaver, who had nothing better to do since _Icarus_ was sitting on the ship's helipad being refueled and repaired, rounded out their foursome. They'd tried Euchre for a bit, but Wily had suffered a particularly bad run of luck. Even with a different, simpler game, that bad luck held.

"So, how's your stomach, Al?" Dr. Light inquired, looking to break up the silence.

"Getting better." Wily grumbled, still hating the fact that he shared a weakness of motion sickness with his friend. "They make a pill for my problem, Tom."

"They make little blue pills for your other problem." Jessica mused, earning a stifled guffaw from Reg Weaver, who hurriedly sorted his cards again to avoid Wily's glower.

Every so often, one of the four sitting around the table in the galley would glance over to Oliver Xanthos, who stood by the window speaking into the phone in his hand. He had a tired, defeated expression on his face. It was a party-killer, but they consoled themselves with the fact that all hostile contacts had stopped pursuing them an hour ago. Xanthos had managed to convince the United States, and the United Nations, to leave them alone.

It was the unknown cost that kept them worried.

"Got any jacks?" Light asked Jessica.

The multi-capable woman nodded, and slid one across the table.

"It was dicey there for a while, lads, but Mr. X pulled us through, that's for sure." Reg blew his lips, making a motorboat noise. "The crew appreciated what you did for them, handin' out doughnuts and the like."

"That's nothing, compared to what all of you have done for us." Dr. Wily waved off the thanks. "We're free. Our Metool is safe. And we're not going to be forced into making weapons of war. I'd call that a successful day."

Light glanced up just in time to see Mr. Xanthos lower his phone from his head and let out a long sigh. "Maybe not entirely." He answered Wily.

Xanthos slipped on a cheerful smile and walked over to them. "Playing cards, are we? Well, that's one way to pass the time."

"Who were you talking to?" Light asked.

Xanthos chuckled. "One call after another there. The first was from Mary Sanders…she's my chief of business relations, oversees my various corporate interests, which are steadily increasing. The second was from Admiral Cedric Paolo, the supreme commander of the six or so ships and installations I keep around. Neither's too happy with me right now."

"Not everyone who works for you will agree with your decision." Jessica Bravewind reminded her employer. "They have reason to be concerned…now that you've exposed yourself publicly, it's only a matter of time before we're all arrested."

Xanthos's lips tightened for a moment, and he shook his head. "No. No, all of you won't have to worry about jail time. Darwin Vinkus called not long after the first two…he's the one I just got off the phone with. He's promised me that everyone working for me, military or otherwise, will receive a full pardon." He pulled up another chair and sat down beside Jessica, chuckling softly. "Of course, the real question is, how are most of the people who work for me going to adapt now? They've gone for years with the world thinking they were dead. I imagine not everyone is going to want to go back."

"Not everyone can." Wily added sourly. He set his cards down on the table and folded his hands. "So everybody working for you gets off scot free. All right. So what's the catch, Oliver? What kind of a deal did you forge to make that happen?"

Xanthos smiled, and leaned back in his chair. "You just let me worry about that. In the meantime, I've received word that you two will be welcomed back with open arms in the United States, if you wish. Then again, maybe this whole experience has soured you completely on the idea. You've got a company to run, the Second Rainbow to work for, and robots that still need to be made. All in all, you've got plenty to worry about without fretting about some old coot like me."

"You're not that much older than us, you know." Dr. Light said.

"True, but some days, I feel those extra years a little more keenly." Xanthos leaned forward in his seat. "Now, is it too late to include me in the next game? I'm willing to deal."

Light, Wily, and Weaver were perfectly willing to accept Oliver's explanation and get back to the game, and a semblance of life as usual. It was only Jessica who put on a false smile, nodded, and worried about what was going to happen to him.

* * *

_6:30 P.M._

Light strolled out onto the deck of the _Socrates_ in search of Albert Wily. To his surprise, he saw his friend leaning against the rail at the bow of the ship, watching the sunset to the west. Light was glad that the boat had reduced speed to a more leisurely forty kilometers per hour: At the speeds it could reach with the hydrofoils extended, Captain Rose could have made any time on deck risky and unpleasant.

Light walked over. The sounds of the waves crashing against the three hulls of the trimaran masked his approach, and yet Wily still straightened up a bit when he was ten feet away.

"I still don't like the ocean, Tom, but it's hard to argue with this view."

Light smiled, and stepped next to Wily. He leaned on the rail and crossed a leg behind him. "Yeah, I'll give you that. Oliver said the stars are beautiful out in the middle of the seas. We'll have to see if he lied to me or not later tonight."

"Well, we have the time for that now." Wily exhaled. "We're on the slow boat to China."

"China? Is that where we're headed?"

Wily shut his eyes. "It's an expression, Tom. Christ. I still don't know where we're going. Or where we should go. Anywhere but back to 'home' would be fine."

"Home's where you hang your hat." Dr. Light shrugged. He pursed his lips. "But here's something else for us to ponder. I was checking my E-Mails about an hour ago. It's why I came looking for you. One of them was from some watchdog government agency."

Wily opened his eyes back up and looked at Light dubiously. "Bad?"

Light rolled his eyes. "It depends on what you mean by 'bad' exactly. What Xanthos told us earlier today's still true. We're free to come and go wherever we please. What we're not free to do, the E-Mail reminded me, is set up shop someplace else. That contract Grevis showed us last night? It looks like he's not the only person who has their hands on that. Intellectual property and all that jazz…ownership reverts back to the United States, thanks to the contracts we signed, or had signed for us while working in the Institute and now in the Second Rainbow."

"Bullshit." Wily grumbled. "That's absolute bullshit. They lost interest in us when we joined up with the Second Rainbow. How come they never pressed for these rights on your translation program? Or your network fix? Or the EDY units, for Chrissake? The only reason they're doing this now is because they see military applications."

"Al…Yeah, I know, but they've got our nuts in a vise here."

"So what, then? Have they tried to monopolize on Beskin's work? Or Dr. Jane's? NO! Just ours!" Wily slammed his fist into the rail, wincing at the unbending metal's strength. "I swear to God, Tom, there are some days I wish this world had _burned_ and left nothing standing."

"You don't believe that."

"No?" Wily retorted, glaring at Tom. "Why is it that only the cockroaches got to survive, and all the good and decent souls died out? Why did Vanessa, why did Simdorn shuffle off this mortal coil when the possessive jerks that set it on fire got to live?"

Dr. Light shook his head. "I don't have the answer to that. But you don't need me telling you what I think. You've already made up your mind as to how you deal with people like that."

Wily caught Light staring at him, and the wild-haired robotic engineer turned his gaze seaward again. "It still doesn't sit right with you, does it?"

"It never will, Will. You killed him in cold blood."

"And if I hadn't, he would come back a couple of years later and try to make our lives Hell again." Wily rolled his eyes. "If you're trying to make me feel guilty about blowing his brains out, you can stop. There's a lot I feel guilty for. Murdering Grevis? Not one of them."

"That's nice to know." Light said coldly. "You know, FBI agents working with Interpol ended up finding Grevis's body in the basement. They're saying it was an inside job, that whoever he was working for did him in to cover it all up."

"Heh! Excuses, excuses. I imagine the United States government has been quick to disavow any knowledge of his activities?"

"Naturally." Light shook his head. "How can you dismiss what you did so coldly? I mean, your thinking is the polar opposite of mine. I told you not to blame yourself for the GAIDNs and you do…but you feel no remorse for killing Grevis."

"Maybe it's because we're different people, Tom." Dr. Wily mused. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to be me, and I sure as Hell don't want to be you. We are who we are, that's it."

"Don't I have a right to be bothered by it?" Light pressed. "Shouldn't I be?"

Wily sighed. "Tom, let it go."

"I can't. Not this time."

"Fine." Wily snapped, and whirled about. "You want to know the truth? I _hate_ myself for what I did to him. That was the first act of direct violence I've ever done in my life. The only one, if I have my say. But I meant what I said, Tom. If he had lived, he would have kept coming after us. So I'll hate myself for it, and I'll think that I'm a monster, but I killed him anyway…and I wouldn't change that decision for anything."

Light blinked twice, and looked out towards the horizon. "You're not a monster. If you regret it, you're no monster. You're only human."

"That's good to know." Wily said, looking out as well. He leaned his head forward and rested his chin on the ship's rail. "But I was right, wasn't I? I did what you couldn't bring yourself to."

"I couldn't live with that on my conscience."

"So that makes me evil?" Wily asked.

"No." Light clarified sternly. "It makes you stronger."

There was silence for a few moments, and they watched the orange sunset bleed away into light blue.

"Nice sunset." Light ventured timidly.

"Yeah, it is." Wily responded laconically. "So any thoughts on how we're going to make our Metools without giving them up to the U.S. government?"

"Nothing yet."

"Well, give it time." Wily smiled, twitching his mustache. "You're pretty good at pulling ideas out of your ass."

"You should see what I pull out of my di…"

"Shut up, Tom."

Dr. Light chuckled.

* * *

Oliver had asked Jessica to sleep with him, and she had agreed. This time, though, there had been no feverish lovemaking followed by her departure. He was content to hold her close…

That was exactly how she knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. She'd forced it out of him.

And then she had promptly fallen apart around him.

Some time had passed, and he had calmed her down a bit more. She still didn't agree with the decision.

"You can't do this. There has to be some other way."

"We knew this day was going to come eventually." Oliver shushed his bodyguard and secretary. He ran a hand through her hair, which only made her bite her lip harder. "This is the only way."

"I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me." Xanthos smiled. "They won't kill me. I've done too much good along with the bad for that to happen. No, even at their worst, they'll just throw me into prison for the rest of my life, confiscate all my money, never let me see the light of day. But even prisoners get conjugal visits."

"Oliv…" She shut her eyes to hide the tears. "There are some days you're such an idiot."

"Most days, I'm a self-absorbed idiot. But what I did today, Jessica…what we did…you know it felt right. You know it was the right thing to do."

"And there's nothing I can say to make you change your mind? Escape while you still can?"

Oliver shook his head. "If I did that, I would be on the run for the rest of my life. Everyone who worked for me would have a price on their heads. I can't have that, Jessica. It's not right. This time, I'm not running away to Elysium."

"Then take me with you." She begged him. "For safety's sake."

Xanthos kissed her forehead. "They'll keep me safe enough until my judgment. I need you here to protect them. I can wait. The world can't."

"And what about my feelings?"

"I care for them, yes. But I care for you more." He tucked down under the sheets and brushed his fingers along her arm. "Promise me you'll do what I ask."

Face red from crying, Jessica nodded. She pushed herself into his arms, and they settled in.

"You won't lose me." He promised her, and actually believed it.

Sleep came that night. It was a restless sleep for Jessica Bravewind, but sleep did come.

As for Oliver, he slept soundly, and without regrets. Whatever tomorrow would bring, he faced it with a clear conscience.

Money and power he had. Mystery, he had lost.

None of that mattered for the quality he had finally found through the example set by his friends in the Second Rainbow. The most important characteristic of all...

The one that couldn't be named.

* * *

_August 28__th__, 2052 C.E._

_11:14 A.M._

Jessica glanced up from the radar monitor. "We have a helicopter incoming, sir. Standard speed, profile indicates a transport. They're eight minutes out."

Refreshed after a very satisfying sleep, Oliver took the news in stride. "He's a bit early…I told the chef to prepare lunch for noon. Still, I suppose he keeps to his own schedules."

Jessica blinked. "It's him, isn't it sir?"

Putting on a brave face for the crew, Oliver smiled and nodded. "It is indeed. We cleared away the _Icarus_, right?"

Lieutenant Jay nodded and set down his clipboard. "Affirmative, sir. Ensign Weaver flew it back up and made the rendezvous with the _Daedalus_. Last I heard from them, they were on their way towards Elysium base to transfer some personnel."

"Good, good." Xanthos slipped his hands into his pockets and turned for the door. "Then I'd best prepare to greet our guests."

Captain Rose swiveled about. "Excuse me, sir?" She questioned him. "Greet them? Shouldn't we be running?"

"We've run enough, Captain Rose." Xanthos told the headstrong career officer. "Besides. They're not coming for you, or for anyone on the crew, or for Light or Wily. You will all be safe."

"And what about you?" Captain Rose shot back, asking the question that Jessica still harbored in her heart. The raven-haired bodyguard closed her eyes to hide her pain.

Mr. Xanthos considered it for a moment, then smiled and headed for the deck. "I'll be fine too."

* * *

The noise of an inbound chopper soon had everyone aboard scrambling to see what the commotion was about. The transport settled onto the deck right as Dr. Light and Wily emerged from belowdecks.

The propellers whined down, and Wily narrowed his eyes. "Tom, that's a Carlisle class transport. It's U.S. made."

"Joy." Dr. Light muttered. "Then again, maybe you're being paranoid. The Second Rainbow uses them, just because there were so many lying around."

The side hatch opened, and a windblown Darwin Vinkus stepped out from the interior darkness. He paused and looked back inside for a moment, shaking his head and yelling something to a person, or people, still inside.

Oliver Xanthos appeared beside the two scientists, with Jessica Bravewind not far behind. "Nothing like a friendly face, eh?"

Wily looked over to Xanthos. "You knew about this?"

"Naturally. He said he was coming. I just wasn't expecting him this soon."

Darwin walked up Xanthos and the rest of the crowd around him. He nodded respectfully at Light and Wily. "Doctors. I trust you're all right?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't we be?" Wily harrumphed. He cracked a smile and folded his arms. "All this time later, and you don't trust Oliver?"

"Oh, I trust him." Darwin replied, giving a nod to the Grecian billionaire. "It's why I told the U.N. troopers to stay in the chopper."

Dr. Light blinked. "Beg'r pardon?"

Vinkus ignored Light's puzzled query. He stared at Oliver. "Are you ready to go, Mr. X?"

"Hm." Oliver set his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Now, hold on one cotton-picking second here!" Dr. Wily exclaimed. "Darwin, what the Hell's going on? Where are you two going?!"

Oliver turned around and tried to shush Wily. "Dr. Wily, it's perfectly fine."

"No, no, it's not fine!" Wily snapped back. He glared at the Second Rainbow's U.N. liaison. "Darwin, don't do this! Oliver's a good man!"

"You don't think I know that?" Vinkus asked quietly. "After everything Oliver's done for the Second Rainbow, I'd be willing to let him go with a handshake. But for better or worse, he's still a known and wanted weapons merchant. He needs to come with me to stand trial. To be heard. That was the deal."

"What deal?" Dr. Light demanded.

"The deal I cut with the United Nations to make sure you two were left alone." Oliver put in. "I would surrender myself, and everyone else would walk free."

Wily narrowed his eyes. "And when were you going to tell us this? Never?"

"If I'd told you yesterday, you would have done one crazy thing after another to stop this from happening." Xanthos shook his head. "This is how it has to be. Even with all the good I've done, there is much I still have to atone for. It starts here."

He hugged each of the scientists briefly, and moved to do the same to Jessica before stopping suddenly. She started towards him nervously, but failed as well. They settled on a handshake instead, and a mutual relieved smile.

"Take care of them, Jessica." Oliver told his secretary. "You're in charge here while I'm gone."

"I understand, sir." She smiled. "I'll keep them safe."

Darwin Vinkus cleared his throat. "Oliver…I thought about what you asked me earlier." He looked over to Light and Wily. "I understand you two likely have no interest in returning home to the United States after this. Dr. Van Hostick posted guards around your laboratory facility at SRHQ not long before the FBI showed up. They tried to confiscate your materials, your work…But we shut them down. Despite whatever arguments they throw, whether it's evidence for some ridiculous crime or eminent domain over your work, they're not getting their hands on what you've done at the Second Rainbow. That's the domain of the United Nations, and in the years to come, public domain."

"It doesn't solve our more immediate problem about the Metool and LightTech," Dr. Light replied, "but thank you. It'll help."

Vinkus rubbed at his chin. "I came here for another reason besides escorting Oliver to U.N. authorities. I made calls to some friends of mine in the Japanese foreign affairs ministry. They've agreed to extend a temporary visa for you two to reside in the country, if you like. It'll at least give you solid ground to stay on while you're contemplating your next moves."

"Japan? Why Japan?" Wily asked.

"Because you deserve a break." Vinkus said. "They've been holing up pariahs since Bobby Fischer. I think you'll like it there. I know I always have."

Dr. Light nodded and held out his hand. "Thanks. We'll give it some thought. Just do us a favor, will you?"

"Name it." Darwin chuckled, shaking Light's hand.

"Keep Oliver out of prison." Light pursed his lips. "The world needs him…and so do we."

"He's my friend too, Thomas." Darwin reminded the robotologist. "I'll do what I can."

Walking side by side, Darwin Vinkus and Oliver Xanthos walked back across the deck of the ship and climbed into the waiting helicopter. The rotors sped up again, lifted the transport away, and it sped off to the north.

Dr. Wily shook his head. "Think we'll see him again?"

Light thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah. I think we will."

"I hope you're right, Doctor." Jessica Bravewind said quietly. She turned back for the ship's interior. "I'll tell Captain Rose to change course."

"Change course?" Wily turned around. "Where are we going?"

"You heard what Representative Vinkus said." Jessica smiled, putting on a brave face. "We're going to Japan. I could go for some sushi right about now."

Wily made a face. "I hate sushi."

Dr. Light patted his friend on the back and followed Jessica in. "Well, now's the perfect time to change that."

* * *

_September 3__rd__, 2052 C.E._

_Yokohama, Japan_

_1:48 P.M._

Their Metool wandered around the hotel room with wide open eyes. Wily watched the robot disinterestedly and munched away on a bowl of rice crackers that room service had provided. It hadn't been too long ago they'd been staying in another place not so very different, but this time, they at least had the advantage of not being chased after. The threat left behind by Grevis, and later, the continual reminders about intellectual property rights from various government agencies, however, did enough to keep them paralyzed.

Wily tapped the small black earpiece he had created. It resembled an old-fashioned Bluetooth receiver, but had a completely different purpose: Translation. "What do you think of these things, Tom?"

"They're a stopgap measure." Dr. Light replied, not bothering to look up from his laptop. For the last two hours, and for countless hours in the days beforehand, Thomas Light had been searching through the patent and copyright laws for some solution to their problem. "Eventually, you're going to have to learn the language."

"Get real." Wily scoffed. "Japanese is a level 4 language. That's hard."

"Hai. Demo, omoshiroii, desu ne?" Light replied smugly. Wily's headset, programmed with Light's own "Alpha" translation matrix, did its work. _Yes, but it's interesting, right?_

"Showoff." Albert Wily muttered. "Have you found anything yet?"

Light closed the lid of his laptop and stretched his arms up. "No." He admitted wearily. "You gotta love bureaucracy. Fact is, when we started LightTech, we opened up a can of worms. Since the company's registered out of the United States, and because we were formerly employed by the government at the Institute, they have a running lease on our work that doesn't expire until 2053."

"A thirteen year holdover?"

"In a way, it makes sense." Light sighed. "Back at the turn of the century, government employees would make products and inventions on government time with government supplies, have their idea, quit, then turn around and try to sell them. It was a real pain for the army, especially."

"So, we wait a year." Wily said. "We don't bring out the Metool just yet. We say that there's some fixing that needs to be done. We transfer LightTech's home base to a different country. We quit the U.S. entirely."

"I agree with you on changing our residence to stop later acquisitions, but it won't help with the Metool." Light walked over to their room's closet and pulled out his white lab coat. "We've already announced it. Under the terms of the contract we signed…It's theirs."

"But there has to be some way, Tom!" Wily insisted. "There's always a way. I'm no lawyer and neither are you, but there's always a way to dick with the rules. Some loophole!"

Light shut his eyes. "It's no good. As long as we want to make money off of the Metool…the AI protocols based on Asimovian heuristics and FAI…"

He waved his hand in the air dejectedly. "That's all there is to it."

The Metool stopped at his feet and tilted the helmet back to look up at him. Light looked down at it. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

The robot blinked uncomprehendingly at the statement.

Light walked for the door and opened it. Wily shook his head. "Hey, if you're going out, grab me a soda, would you?" He called out after his friend.

The door shut, and Wily rolled his eyes. "You bring me Diet again, Tom, and we'll have some words."

* * *

Thomas Light made his way down to the hotel's bar and restaurant. A waiter came by and Light raised up two fingers. "Ni wa Coca-Cola desu. Bin ni tsumeru, kudasai."

"Hai." The waiter took off like a shot, and Light meandered to the bar. He rested his weight on one of the stools, sighed, and pulled out his pipe and smoking tobacco.

The bartender came over and shook his head. "Sir, am sorry, but…No smoking in restaurant."

Light paused, then sighed and put his tobacco pouch away again. "Just as well. I should quit anyhow one of these days. You don't mind if I chew on the end of my pipe for a while?"

The bartender sifted through his words, a confused look on his face. "Sorry. Engulish not so good."

Light chuckled, and pulled out a duplicate of Wily's earpiece translator. He powered it up, adjusted the setting to translate to Japanese, and handed it to the man. "Put it in your ear." He explained. The barkeep looked at it for a moment, and Light pointed at the side of his head. The fellow caught on and slipped it into place.

Light folded his hands together. "Can you understand me now?"

He could just barely hear a Japanese version of his voice garble into the barkeep's ear, and the man's face brightened. "Ah! Yes! Understand." He repeated happily.

"Good. Now, I can't smoke in here. Can I at least chew on my pipe for a while? It helps me think."

The barkeep thought about it, then nodded. "Yes. If you not smoke, is fine."

"Good." Light jammed the end of his old pipe between his teeth and sighed. "It's better than nothing."

"You have drink you want, sir?"

Light waved the offer away. "No, someone's already bringing me what I came down here for."

The bartender nodded. "Okay." He unclipped Light's earpiece translator and handed it back. "Thank you." After Light had taken it, he walked back over to the far side of the counter and went back to cleaning up his area. The waiter that had taken Light's order appeared not long after, carrying both bottles of Coca-Cola that he'd asked for. Unopened, and glass, to boot.

"Arigatou gozaimasu." Light thanked the man. He smiled, bowed slightly, and left to go serve others.

Light set Wily's cold refreshment aside and stared at his. Even with kanji scattered all across it, he could understand it perfectly…The legacy of his mother, Wilhelmina Light, who had pushed him into foreign languages, was summed up in that one humorous moment.

"You save the world from a second nuclear holocaust, now you're using your talents to read nutrition facts on a pop label. You've really come a long way, Thomas X. Light."

The carbonated beverage, of course, didn't argue.

Light tucked his pipe back away and let out a sigh. He glanced around the room. This early in the day, the place was mostly empty. He and Wily pretty much had free reign of the establishment, but they hadn't exactly been in the mood to live high. Xanthos was still on parade, and his trial was set to begin in a few days' time. Vinkus, of course, felt miserable about the entire affair, and Dr. Van Hostick had called and badgered them as to when exactly they were planning on returning to the Second Rainbow Headquarters and continuing their work.

There were a few bunches of people, of course. A small group of salarymen wearing indistinctive suits were three tables away, talking business, and, of course, doing shots of sake. An older couple was enjoying a leisurely late lunch of soba noodles, and spent much more time looking at each other than their food. Light turned away from them after only a few seconds. It hurt too much, as all it did was dredge up memories of Vanessa and what might have been.

He settled to glance at one of the hotel employees, a young man probably sixteen or seventeen years old, who was on his break. The young fellow staring intently at the screen of his cellular phone, pushing the keys rhythmically and squinting every so often.

Light had fancied himself a bit of a gamer in his youth, and curiosity got the better of him. He stood up and walked over behind the young man, and looked over his shoulder. He was playing a game of Tetris, by the looks of the falling polygonal blocks…A game nearly 75 years old, which everyone and their grandmother played.

"Huh. Tetris." Light chuckled to himself. He headed back to the counter and picked up Wily's soda, then slipped both bottles into the side pocket of his lab coat. He looked over to the bartender. "Hey. Put these on our bill, okay?"

The bartender, now without Light's translating device, took a moment to respond. "Yes. I put on your room bill."

"Right." Light nodded at the man and headed for the door. "Heh. Well, you didn't get the answer you wanted, but at least you won't be thirsty now."

Thomas Light, like most people, believed that there were times that getting away from the problem sometimes helped you to solve it. That was why he'd taken the excursion down through the lobby. It hadn't borne any results, but it had reminded him of the simpler, more cheerful things in life. Maybe he'd download a free copy of Tetris when he got back upstairs, and…

Light stopped dead in the lobby and blinked. "Y…It…"

He thought about it a bit more, and suddenly let out an exuberant whoop that made everyone in the hotel's front room look at him as though he was crazy. For all Light knew, he was…but he had an answer.

"I'm so _stupid."_ He chastised himself, dashing for the elevators. People gasped and cleared a path for him, and Light barreled through without even looking at them.

The elevator doors shut as he stepped inside and pressed the button for his floor. The last thing the lobby residents saw of the white laboratory coat wearing patron was the bizarre grin that stretched from ear to ear…

Lighting up the entire world.

* * *

Wily jumped up from the spot on his bed he'd been sitting on as Light flung the door open. He nearly panicked when Light stepped inside, mumbling to himself and looking frenzied. "What, what is it?! Are we being attacked again?!"

Light stopped and looked over. "Huh? Oh. No, no, nothing like that." He pulled out the two bottles of Coca-Cola and tossed them over to Wily. "I got your soda. Regular this time."

"You remembered. Peachy." Wily groused, moving to open one.

"I wouldn't open them right away, they got kind of jostled because I was…"

The carbonated foam spray splattered all over Wily's face before Light could finish his sentence. Light winced and looked over apologetically. "…running."

Wily set the bottle aside and reached for a nearby towel. "Thanks for the warning, Tom." He snapped.

"Don't mention it." Light paid him no mind after that, and went straight for his laptop.

The Metool wandered back out of the bathroom, finished exploring for the moment. Watching Dr. Light was much more interesting, after all.

Wily finished drying himself off and tossed the wet towel over on top of the Metool. It let out a high-pitched squeak and tottered back towards the bathroom to dump the cloth. "So what's the rush? You got an idea?"

"The best idea ever, Will." Light broke out into a grin, pausing his typing to look up at his partner. "We're going to give the Metools away for free."

Wily blinked. "Come again?"

"Freeware!" Dr. Light exclaimed, whooping again. "Well, I mean, sort of. Freeware's a term that applies to software, not robots, but…God, I should have thought of it to begin with! The one way we can get around the U.S. government getting a hold of our Metool and using it for themselves alone is by dropping the schematics out on the web, and making the Metools free…public domain!"

Wily frowned. "All right…Okay, fine. So we do that. Now the robot we've spent the last six or so months working on is going to be classified as public domain. Which means others will be making them, and making money selling them. So how does that work to our advantage? We're a business, Tom, not a charity."

"Oh, Al, you're missing the point." Dr. Light was still mighty gleeful. "I know we're not a charity. But if we say, "here's our newest and best robot, here's the schematics, and they're yours to make for free," then the U.S. won't be able to bother with us. They won't be able to bother with anyone. Once we let the genie out of the bottle, there's no putting it back in. And suddenly we're more than just another company made by a couple of geniuses in the Second Rainbow who are kind of famous. We're frigging benefactors…saviors to the world. Providers to the poor, all that jazz. You can't buy that kind of goodwill, but you CAN give it away."

Wily half-shook and half-nodded his head. "Okay. So let's say we do this. We get all this good publicity. How do we make sure people still buy the Metool from us? And how do you make sure that the Metool isn't used for warlike ends?"

"Easy." Light smirked. "Elizier Yudkowsky would just eat this part up."

"Yudkowsky…the inventor of the FAI concept?"

"Yup. I've told you before, we're going to make the Three Laws module standard on all our robots, right?"

"Yes, that was one of our bullet points at the Conference." Wily finally got up off of the bed and wandered over to stand by Light. "What about it?"

"Al, if we modify the schematics just a bit…we can make sure that the Metools don't work without our Code. Kind of like lockout chip technology."

"So how does that help us?"

"All those E-Mails that the U.S. hit us with? They're not interested in the Three Laws Core Module. They could give a rat's ass. It goes against everything they want, which is to turn the Metool into a weapon. So we make the thing they _want_ free use…and then we _sell_ the component they DIDN'T want…At a low price. Super-low. Like maybe $10 to make a Metool run. We set it up so they have to download the Core Module every time, give them unique registration numbers. And yeah, we still make the Metool ourselves. I mean, we're going to be LightTech, the company of the people, of the world. Sure, people can get Metools from other places…but why do that when they can buy it at a decent price from the people who came up with the idea, and save themselves the hassle of installing the Core Module?"

Wily thought about it. "This plan's crazy, you realize."

"Yeah, I know it is."

"A large part of it relies on the assumption that people are going to see LightTech as world saviors, heroes in a world obsessed with money and power."

"Yup."

"You're also assuming that we'll pull down a chunk of change because people are too lazy, or too afraid, to make the Metools and install the program themselves."

"It was true fifteen years ago and it's still true today. Even more now. There'll always be tech-savvy people, but then there are those who just want to use the technology without bothering to understand how it works."

"And lastly, you're assuming that we can pull this off and leave our trackers choking on our proverbial dust."

"I know how you like a challenge, Al."

Wily's stern frown hit Light's grin, and the mad scientist finally let Light's infectious smile get to him. He rolled his eyes, leaned back against the wall, and chuckled. "Some days, Tom, you put aside your cheerful, naïve demeanor and do something that convinces me that inside, there's a part of you that's a real son of a bitch."

"Just the part that deals with obstinate jerks." Light guffawed. "Come on. Let's get started."

"The sooner, the better." Wily agreed, sitting down beside his partner. The Metool wandered back out of the bathroom, de-toweled, and chirped curiously at the two scientists. Wily's earpiece translated the binary squabble effortlessly. "Hey, Tom. The squirt wants to know what we're doing."

Dr. Light glanced down at the latest of their metallic progeny. "I'm giving you to the world, little one."

"Let's just hope the world's ready." Dr. Wily pointed out.

"It will be." Light stated. "It's been waiting for something big to happen."

* * *

_CNN Broadcast_

_6 P.M. News_

_September 4__th__, 2052 C.E._

**"…And now, to give us the latest developments on this breaking story, we take you to our on-site reporter at Second Rainbow Headquarters, Marcel d'Whyste. Marcel?"**

_"Thank you, Tom. I am standing at the SRHQ in Alaska, where the brightest minds in the world have come to correct and repair the damage to our wartorn world. Two American scientists who worked here have unleashed a storm upon the globe…a storm of change, and progress._

_Their names? Doctors Thomas X. Light and Albert W. Wily. While they are assigned to the 3__rd__ division of the SRHQ…that's the "Engineering and Mechanics" department for those of you out there not familiar with the inner workings of the U.N. funded agency…these two scientists have had a hand in several other major triumphs and advances over the last 5 years. Their efforts contributed to the re-establishment of a global communications network, and they also assisted Dr. Hyrmue in the creation of Treeborgs, and played a minor role in the making of the ZOOS units that helped to revive the ailing ozone layer as well. _

_Two years ago, they established LightTech Industries, a private firm which received its starting funds from Dr. Hyrmue's own company. Their EDY units, better known as the "Fliptop" series, took the world by storm and launched LightTech into the forefront of the field of robotic engineering. _

_It was only a scant two weeks before that they stunned the world again with a new creation, a multipurpose tool-using robot called a "Metool" that promised to change the face of robotics forever. Most important to it was the inclusion of the next generation of AI, which included the "Rules of Robotics," a famous and influential set of guidelines written by science fiction author Isaac Asimov, as a part of their programming. Orders streamed in from all parts of the globe, as nations, other companies, and even private citizens sought to gain Metools for their own use. That announcement was only heightened in the drama that followed, which saw Light and Wily leave their country of origin, and exposed Oliver Xanthos, Grecian billionaire and Second Rainbow benefactor, as the infamous, and formerly faceless weapons merchant "Mr. X." The trial of Mr. X, as you are all aware, is ongoing at the world courts in New Amsterdam, where the United Nations has placed its new headquarters._

_Now, the world is abuzz with news that LightTech Industries has published copies of the Metool's schematics and programming around the world for public view and use. They have declared their newest achievement to be in the public domain, which means that anyone is free to build and even sell Metools as they see fit. The Three Laws "Core Module," however, which is the guiding programming for the versatile robot and all others that will follow, according to the information they provided at the Robotics Conference in Colorado Springs, has been announced as a separate download. The Core Module will sell for approximately $8 per download. In the last hour, a news bulletin from Treeborg Inc. stated that CEO Ezriah Hyrmue has agreed to co-sponsor a program with LightTech Industries that will waive the fee for Metools being built in especially wartorn and poverty-stricken areas. Populations that became gun-shy after the march of the GAIDNs have expressed no such fears with the Metools, thanks to the Core Module that prevents them from harming humans._

_Internet relays and servers worldwide are being inundated with download requests and searches on both the Metool and the Core Module program. The Second Rainbow and the United Nations have publicly declared their support for this magnanimous act of charity. Dr. Light and Dr. Wily have given the world the best that they have to offer, and they have made it so that wherever a Metool is needed to help repair our damaged world, there will be one._

_LightTech Industries' stock rose 6 points over the last two days, and continues to climb. Oddly enough, orders for the Metool, according to their company spokesperson, have skyrocketed as well. The Metools are here to stay, and thanks to the Core Module developed by the company's founders, they have ensured that humanity will never need fear violence from the next generation of robots. The shockwaves and aftereffects of this have yet to be felt, but one thing is for certain…_

_Dr. Light and Dr. Wily are true heroes to be admired by the rest of the world. Dr. Van Hostick, the SRHQ on-site coordinator has told me that they have decided to take up residence and become citizens in the nation of Japan. The last of their gear, experiments, and other data is being loaded up for transport inside the SRHQ as I speak to you. Wherever these two doctors go, I have no doubt that they will forever have humanity's best interests in mind. My thoughts and prayers go out to them._

_From Alaska, this is Marcel d'Whyste. Have a good night, and God bless."_

_

* * *

  
_

_The Home of Darwin Vinkus_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_September 9__th__, 2052 C.E._

_9:42 P.M._

Dr. Wily poked his head out of the kitchen. "Hey, is it back on yet?"

Darwin Vinkus and Thomas Light were sitting back on the two couches in the diplomat's living room. Whereas fifteen years before, they would have stared at a high definition screen in the luxurious residence, the work done by Dr. Li Xiang of China had created the next level of visual interface. Just like in the SRHQ's Conference Room, Vinkus's house came equipped with the latest in Dr. Xiang's emitters. It rendered the video feed, gave it depth, and showed it in a pale blue that encompassed half the room.

"Yes, it's back on. Hurry it up, Al!" Dr. Light called back impatiently.

Wily snorted and ducked back inside the kitchen. "You don't rush greatness!" He shouted out.

"For God's sakes, he's just warming up frozen taquitos." Darwin complained. "Why is he making such a big deal out of it?"

"It's not fish." Light smiled, reaching for his coffee mug of alcohol-spiked Irish Coffee. "Give him time. He'll get used to all the sushi."

"He'd better." Darwin muttered. "He keeps plowing through that Tempura, he won't last long. Neither will you, if you keep smoking."

Light patted the pocket of his sweater vest, and the tobacco pipe inside of it. "I used to be a bit more pessimistic about the future, yeah. But I'm working on it."

"Good." Vinkus grunted, lifting his glass of water in a toast. "I'd kind of like to keep you around for a while. The Second Rainbow still needs you."

They clinked their beverages together. Light took another sip of his drink and exhaled. "And Dr. Van Hostick is okay with us not staying at the SRHQ?"

"Under the circumstances, he realizes there isn't much choice in the matter." Vinkus set his glass back down and folded his arms. "Sure, they'd love to keep you on-site for as helpful as you are with everyone else, but you can feasibly do just as much here."

"Here." Dr. Light grunted. "You know, Al and I haven't even decided where we're going to live. And with property values the way they are, it'll drain a lot of our LightTech profits to set up shop."

Vinkus's eyes twinkled. "Well, I'll tell you what. If I happen across a nice little piece of land, I'll be sure to let you know about it."

Albert Wily finally emerged from the kitchen, using a potholder to carry a steaming plate full of baked taquitos, which were beef-filled rolled up corn tortillas. "Snack's on, fellas!" He set it down on the coffee table in front of them and plopped down beside Light. "I love these things. But where do you get them?"

"This bunch?" Vinkus chuckled. He picked up a taquito and rolled it in his hand. "It came out of one of Xanthos's supply bases. The one in Antarctica, I think…Elysium?"

"Never underestimate a man's penchant for snack food." Dr. Light agreed sagely, reaching for a roll of his own. "All right. It looks like the judge is coming back in from recess."

* * *

_The Trial of Mr. X_

_New Amsterdam, Netherlands_

_10:42 A.M_

The audience within the courtroom rose to their feet as Judge Frank Heinrickson entered. He was a serious man without a smile to spare, and pale blond hair that was starting to grow silvery with the hints of old age. Like many in the world who occupied positions of power in the age of Reconstruction, he had lived long enough to see humanity at its apex and witness its fall…and be forever scarred afterwards.

A hush settled in as he walked up to his bench, took one sweeping look around the room, and settled his stony gaze on Oliver Xanthos. The Grecian billionaire's smile hadn't been there for days, and even though he dressed in his best suits, he carried himself as a man already wearing prison orange. His lawyer, court-appointed at his request, stood by him, but clearly was expecting no upset. Sitting in the first row behind the defense was Jessica Bravewind, always near to her employer. She had flown to New Amsterdam as soon as the _Socrates_ had reached harbor in Japan, and while controlled, she was obviously on a tight string.

"Please be seated." The judge said in a gravelly voice. The audience, the prosecution, and Xanthos and his defense all sat down.

The judge folded his hands and leaned forward in his seat a bit. "For many days now, we have reviewed the evidence weighed against the defendant, Mr. Xanthos. The prosecution supplied its closing argument yesterday. The defense may now give its closing argument before I render my verdict."

The defense attorney rose nervously and looked down to Oliver. The expatriate gave one silent nod of his head, and his attorney cleared his throat. "Your honor, at this time…the defendant has asked to give his own closing statement."

The judge raised an eyebrow. "Interesting…but I will allow it."

The defense attorney sat back down, and Oliver rose. He adjusted his tie for a moment, then gave a respectful nod to the judge.

"Judge Heinrickson, ever since I helped two friends of mine to escape from the wrongful incarceration of their home nation, I have lived accepting that I would finally be paying long outstanding debts to society. Because of that, I supplied you full access to every detail of my program today, and took responsibility for my past sales. Yes, I sold guns, ammunition, explosives, to militant religious and political sects on all sides. I took advantage of local disturbances and made profit on the blood and suffering of soldiers and innocents both."

Xanthos shook his head. "But that was more than 12 years ago. As the evidence against me also points out, when the Wars of 2040 began, I retreated to my own private haven, and waited the war out. During that time, I was not involved in arms dealing. I only stockpiled supplies…food, machinery, raw materials…for a time after the bombs would stop falling, and the world would need help. To be honest, when I dug into Elysium, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I hadn't even begun to suspect that I would have this large of a role to play in helping to fix the world. It never crossed my mind, because back then, like so many…I was more concerned about saving myself.

That changed, your honor, a few years into the war. I found myself rescuing people, as I had done before…soldiers, innocents…those who would have died. I gave them a place in my organization, a home, and a purpose. As you know, a part of the deal I made with the United Nations was that every employee who worked under me would receive a full pardon. I did that because all the terrible things that happened because of me…are my fault alone. I hated myself, and still do many times, for who I was…but through the individuals I came into contact with, those that I saved, I found a new purpose. They changed me, and gave me a mission worth my time and energy. It was in 2045 that I decided that all the supplies I had collected, hoarded away, could not be used for anything less than to help put the world back on its feet. It was a mission everyone who worked for me agreed with, though they also agreed that the help could only be given in secret.

2047 came around, and the Treaty of Canberra established the CTWRC…now the Second Rainbow. I approached the individuals put in charge of creating and maintaining the organization, and offered my help and wealth. I have served on ever since as an active part of the Second Rainbow…not only with my time and money, but in lesser roles as it demanded. The scientists, engineers, and physicists who still labor in Alaska could likely tell you stories of how I offered a kind word and a hot meal serving them in the cafeteria.

My business coordinator, who the prosecution brought in as a witness, has told you everything about my dealings since then. I have not sold weapons or made a business of death since the Wars, and I never intend to again.

Your honor, there are those who clamor for you to throw me in prison for the rest of my life, or even to kill me. Eight years ago, I would have said they were right. But now, I have something to live for. The world needs people to help put it back on its feet. I consider myself lucky enough to have been one of them, and I hope you'll give me the chance to stay on and continue to serve as I have. I have been a force for destruction in the past. Let me now be a force for good."

Xanthos blinked a few times, nodded, and sat down. There was nothing else to say after that.

Judge Heinrickson tapped his gavel once and set it aside. "This court will now recess for five minutes, while I deliberate the charges." He rose and headed for the door, ignoring the bailiff's hasty call for all to stand.

His defense attorney looked at Oliver sadly. "I'm sorry I couldn't mount a better defense."

"So much of what I've done is indefensible." Mr. X told the man with a quiet smile. He patted him on the shoulder. "You did your best, and I thank you for it. I asked for a court-appointed lawyer because I wanted them to give me someone honest. I've spent enough time hiding behind lies. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to speak with my secretary."

His attorney left the table, and Jessica came up to sit beside him. He set his hand on the table and shrugged. "Well, we tried, Jessica."

"Don't shut yourself down yet." She chastised him. "The judge hasn't rendered his verdict."

"Yes, but in review, I've done far too much to ruin this world." He leaned in and whispered. "And they don't even know about the Thorium that I…"

"Hush." She put a finger on his lips. "If he hadn't gotten it from you, he would have gotten something worse from someone else."

"Hah. The lesser of two evils, then?" He laughed bitterly. "Jessica, you didn't need to come back. They pardoned you. I sent you with Light and Wily because I wanted you to be safe."

"And I've told you before, when I make my mind up, there's no changing it."

"But why?" Oliver asked her. "Why did you come back?"

Her green eyes twinkled and she shook her head. "You don't know?"

Xanthos closed his eyes, and reached for her hand. He squeezed it softly. "I don't deserve you."

"But you still have me."

"And when I go to prison, what then? You have to move on, Jess. You've got so much left to live for."

"You're not going to prison. I won't let it happen. I promise."

"Then let me make you a deal." Oliver opened his eyes and lifted an eyebrow. "If I'm pronounced guilty, you leave me behind and make a life for yourself. If they don't throw me in prison, though…If they let me walk, then I'll walk. Right down the aisle with you."

"Marry me?" She repeated dubiously. "Oliver, there's no…"

"I know, I know. I'm Greek Orthodox, you're Judeo-Buddhist. I don't give a damn." He interrupted. "We've been tip-toeing around this for years, and the fact of the matter is, I'm tired of the formality. I'm in love with you, and I'm damn sure it goes both ways. So if they give me my life, I'm giving it to you. End of discussion."

Her eyes welled up. "You're just saying that to buy some good karma."

"All rise!" The bailiff called out. The conversations in the courtroom ceased, and Judge Heinrickson walked back inside. He sat down and folded his hands.

"The defendant will rise."

Jessica moved back to her seat as Oliver Xanthos stood up.

Judge Heinrickson stared at Oliver for a long moment, then reverted to a more relaxed, ongoing sweep of the room. "This is a truly landmark case for many reasons. It is the first that is being broadcast with new holographic imaging technology, as I have been told. It the first case that the newly reformed World Court has been requested to take. And it is the first case where we have been able to put on the stand an individual responsible for some of the horrors of the previous decade.

Others, of course, have been tried and convicted at the national level. Dran Grevis was sent to prison for his own large role in turning the "Kewbee" project into the Gaiden robots, which struck fear in the hearts of so many. He apparently was released, and later turned up dead in the events which led to Mr. Xanthos' arrest. There is a great deal of confusion around that, and this court does not wish to bring opinion to that, only reference it as prior events.

The prosecution has shown very clearly, thanks to the evidence provided by the defense, that Oliver Xanthos, i.e. "Mr. X" was every bit the ruthless underground weapons merchant that intelligence bureaus worldwide believed him to be. His gun running and other illicit trades can be traced to no less than ten incidents leading up to and during the Wars of 2040. His guilt in this is quite clear."

The judge's voice came down like a hammer, lowering Oliver's head by fractions of an inch until at the end, when the verdict was all but given, his chin was buried in his chest.

The judge paused, then forged on. "What is also clear to this court, however…is that the Oliver Xanthos responsible for these crimes no longer exists."

Oliver's head jerked up in surprise amidst the shocked rumblings of the courtroom. Judge Heinrickson banged his gavel down hard to quiet them, and continued when they fell silent.

"Sitting up here, I was stunned at the level of transparency that the defense allowed into Mr. Xanthos' past misdeeds. His financial records, his correspondence, his contacts…all of his network was laid bare here in this room. A mountain of evidence, all of it freely given, easily enough to convict him three times over if we examined this case on the merits of the crime alone, and ignored the person…and the setting." The judge paused, waiting for another protest. This time, none came, and he pushed on. "We live in an age of Reconstruction. This world has been given a second chance. The Second Rainbow was so named because the people within it believed the surviving 40 percent of the world's population had been given a second chance. By his own accounting, and the accounts of those who he has worked with and supported, Oliver Xanthos has played a large role in helping to put this world back on its feet. His actions, outside of and inside of this courtroom, speak of an individual who has broken completely away from his checkered past."

The judge sat up a little straighter and bridged his fingers. "The modern prison system was established for more than the simple purpose of incarceration of criminals…it also tries to rehabilitate them. Oliver Xanthos has clearly been rehabilitating himself for many years before he came forward and announced his former identity. Many people commit evil acts without ever trying to pay for their mistakes, or correct them. To see the infamous Mr. X not following this trend is refreshing, and allows this court to approach this case from an enlightened perspective."

He cleared his throat. "The verdict, as rendered by the World Court in the case of world vs. Oliver Xanthos…is guilty."

Cheers erupted from the far side of the room, and the judge slammed his gavel down hard, three times in all, before they shut up again.

Oliver bit his lip, and waited for the inevitable sentence. Judge Heinrickson smoothed out his robe, and forged on.

"As I have said, this is a truly unique case in many ways. But most importantly, this gives us a chance to send a clear signal to future generations about the values of this age of Reconstruction we live in. Can a man truly turn 180 degrees, and change his life for the better? It is the question which haunts every judge that has to sit in front of a criminal that blubbers about how he is ashamed at his mistakes, and begs for mercy. Oliver Xanthos, you did not do that. Instead, you stood in front of this court, and all the witnesses here, and said only that you asked to be given the opportunity to continue your work in making our world inhabitable again. When Hassam-al-Hamal and his Legion of Muhammad emerged out of the desert and volunteered to assist the United Nations with rescue efforts in the region, they were granted a pardon and put to work…and that was after they attacked Paris with a nuclear device. We live in a new age, a shattered species that now fights to live on a fragile, devastated world. It is far better for us to put our hatred, our fears, and our weapons aside, and work towards a tomorrow that our children can live in safely. It would be all too easy for me to give you a life sentence, or one that will last beyond your years. I would have cause to, and certainly, the public at large would approve of it. Instead, Mr. Xanthos, I am going to sentence you in the spirit of the Reconstruction, and the Second Rainbow that you have given so much to. I am giving you a second chance."

The courtroom erupted in a mix of cheers and roars, and the judge slammed his gavel down again. "Enough! You will be silent while I finish passing judgment, or I will clear this courtroom, is that understood?!"

They settled down, but the energy in the room remained.

Oliver sat shock still. Jessica's hand crept up and squeezed his shoulder, daring to hope.

Judge Heinrickson set his gavel aside and shook his head. "My sentence is this, Mr. Xanthos. As you have provided full transparency of all your business dealings and assets, they are to remain mostly intact. Your military vessels…the aircraft, the submarine? Those are to be dismantled, scrapped, never to be used again. You will be allowed to keep your Trimaran, provided you remove all weapons systems from it and submit the _Socrates_ to an inspection by U.N. officials. Your Antarctic base is to be closed down and dismantled as well.

Any supplies you still have stockpiled are to be given to the Second Rainbow for their continued use in repairing the planet. As for your personal assets, this court sees no need to confiscate or freeze any of your capital or investments. You are heavily involved in a great number of corporations around the world which supply jobs and products necessary to keep the human race afloat. I do however, encourage you, to continue on as a benefactor. Your money will do far more good flowing about creating new breakthroughs and opportunities than locked away in a vault. Lastly, service. In place of a prison term for your past misdeeds, this court orders you to serve as a valued member of the Second Rainbow, in the fashion you have seen fit to do until this point, for as long as that organization deems your service and contributions to be necessary and welcome. You will have a probationary period of one year, during which you will be checked up on by an appointee of this court to ensure that the terms of your sentence are being carried out."

Judge Heinrickson narrowed his eyes. "Do you have any questions, or require clarification of the sentence at this time?"

Eyes shining with tears he refused to wash away, Oliver Xanthos shook his head. "No, your honor."

"Good." Judge Heinrickson slammed his gavel back down. "Then this court is adjourned. And Mr. X?"

Oliver laughed to hear the name now, which no longer carried the sting it once did. "Yes, your honor?"

Judge Heinrickson's stony expression softened just enough to allow for a quarter-second half smile. "Good luck."

The judge rose and turned about, walking out the way he'd come. The courtroom exploded in noise once again, and before Oliver knew what had happened, Jessica had spun him about, pinned him to the table, and nearly sucked his tongue out of his mouth in a passionate kiss.

With the crowds reacting around them, the bailiff and the men-at-arms shouting over the clamor for order, and reporters trying desperately to reach the defendant without any luck, Oliver pulled his head away from Jessica and wiped his tears away.

She was crying as well, and smiling at the same time. "You did it." She whispered. "You're free."

"Just keep doing what I've been doing, that's what he said." Oliver beamed, hugging her close.

She arched an eyebrow and smirked at him. "So be honest." She said, tracing her finger along his chin. "Did you really mean what you said back there? About us?"

Mr. X ran a hand through her black hair and winked. "Take a wild guess."

* * *

_5 Miles Outside of Tokyo_

_September 16__th__, 2052 C.E._

_1:20 P.M._

"Blast it, Darwin, I wish you'd tell us where we're going!" Wily complained. They were riding in a biofuel converted jeep, and had long since gone off the highway, and off any meaningful road. The only indication of civilization was the distant cityscape and a single dirt road they'd turned off of that bore the name 'Heiwa Drive.' Wily rode in the front passenger seat, while Light stayed strapped in the back with Eddie bouncing along beside him. Light had insisted on keeping Eddie on and active for this trip, despite Wily's protests. Darwin had said he'd found them a nice quiet place to live, and Light wanted the Fliptop unit that had become a fixture in their life to be a part of it.

Darwin Vinkus grinned, and shouted over the noise of the bouncing vehicle. "It isn't much farther now! You two are going to love this, trust me!"

"It had better be!" Dr. Light shouted. "I'm tired of living out of a suitcase in a hotel!"

Vinkus pulled the jeep to a stop and shut off the engine. "We're here." He remarked, turning around.

Light and Wily climbed out, and Eddie the Fliptop hopped out behind them. They stared around, and saw a vast swath of undeveloped land, lush with grass. The ground sloped upwards slightly towards a small hill at the center, overlooking Tokyo miles away and below. On top of the hill, a single western-style house sat abandoned and in need of repair. It was a one story affair, built for the earthquake prone region, but it was relatively wide.

Dr. Light caught himself staring at it, and he looked over to Vinkus. "Who lives here?"

"No one, currently." Darwin shrugged. "This property used to belong to a very profitable farmer in the region. This was his quiet space in retirement…his abode, you might say. He died, naturally, and the zoning commission is planning on divvying out the land into parcels for middle-class urban development. The beginnings of a small neighborhood are going to start to take form around here, but this house, and the hill it sits on, are up for grabs. The developers said they'd be willing to sell you the house and the hill if you wanted it. Your Metools are going to be added to their workforce, and they're grateful." He nodded towards it. "Go on up, take a look."

Light and Wily headed up towards the house, with Eddie plodding along loyally behind them.

They walked up onto the deck, and Wily sized up the screen door. "A couple of holes…the mesh is going to need repairing."

"Yeah, but look at this deck." Light walked around on the shaded resting area in front of the house. "This is a nice deck! I haven't ever had a deck before!"

Dr. Wily cringed as he swung the front door open. "I'd urge you not to get so excited about this place quite yet." Eddie tottered up after him and tried to follow Wily inside the house, but the screen door slammed shut before he could reach it. The red-hued fliptop let off a confused beep, and a chuckling Dr. Light propped the screen door open again.

"Come on, Eddie. Let's have a look inside."

The interior of the house was dusty and in need of minor repairs, but had held together quite well. The retired farmer who owned the place had certainly taken good care of it.

Wily perused the environs, then took a seat in the living room and waited for Light and Eddie to catch up to him. They did five minutes later.

"It's not a bad little hut, but we could do better." Wily offered. "We could build a palace out here on another one of the lots. Completely modernize it."

Light traced a hand along the wall. "What if I don't want a brand new house, Will?" He asked quietly. "This place…it's got a feel to it. A warmth."

"You're imagining things, just like you anthropomorphize our robots." Wily muttered. "It's a house."

"No, it's more than that." Light shook his head. He knelt down and tapped on the wooden floor. "This place is a _home_, Will. Sure, the wiring and plumbing's 20 years old. Sure, it doesn't have all the conveniences we might want. And sure, we could build a mansion if we wanted. But I don't want any of that. Work can be work. I think, for a change, I want someplace quiet again. Like my cabin I used to live in by Quesnel."

Wily stared at him. "You're serious."

"Completely." Light stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. "We're getting old, Will. We'll be 40 next year."

"Don't remind me." Wily rolled his eyes. "I try not to think about how we spent our best years. It only depresses me."

"We're not as young as we used to be. And we've still got work to do, yeah…but right now, we've just become citizens of Japan. We're in a country that you don't understand that well, and that neither of us really fit in with. We could live anywhere. But this place feels like home. This house is like one we would have had in the U.S. before the war. I feel like I could grow old here."

"What are you talking about? You are old." Wily grinned. He glanced down to Eddie. "Hey, buckethead. Don't you think Dr. Light's old?"

Eddie warbled a confused statement in binary, and raised, then dropped his head in the mimicry of a shrug.

Dr. Wily stood up and sighed. "Well, fine. This place is going to take a lot of work to fix up to where we need it, but…if you want to live here, I won't argue. It's got a good view, at least. We're probably going to have to build our laboratory as a separate building. Maybe knock out the eastern wall and connect the two?"

Thomas Light looked over at the eastern wall and envisioned a passage to a brand new, highly advanced work area. "I can see that."

Darwin Vinkus knocked on the door and stepped inside the house. "You two have been in here for a while. Everything okay?"

"Perfectly fine." Dr. Light reassured the Second Rainbow's U.N. liason. "As a matter of fact, we've just decided to live here."

Darwin beamed. "Perfect. I'll call the realtor and let him know you're interested."

"Tell him we're offering less than the sale price." Wily put in quickly. "This place is going to need some repairs." He wandered over to the wall and pulled down a picture still hanging there, of an older man standing by a farm's business sign. "And some redecoration." He winced.

Vinkus nodded. "A good idea. Haggling is important with realty." He looked over at the picture. "Hey, that shot's of the owner, I think."

Light walked over and took the picture from Wily, scrutinizing it. "Yeah, I think you're right. You said he was a farmer, and…"

Dr. Light froze, then pointed a shaky finger at the sign behind the man's head. "Uh…Darwin? Did you see this?"

Darwin Vinkus frowned and joined them. He read the kanji lettering on the sign in the picture. "Hikari Farms." The representative blinked, then shook his head. "Oh, now that's just _weird."_

"What's weird?" Dr. Wily demanded irritably.

"It can't be a coincidence…you knew about this, didn't you?" Dr. Light accused Vinkus. The man who was their younger in years, but who looked far older by stress and fatigue, shook his head violently.

"No, no, I swear! I didn't know his name!"

"What's so blessedly important about the farmer's name?!" Wily snapped.

Light handed the picture to Wily and shook his head. "His name was Hikari."

"So?"

"Translated, Hikari means Light." Darwin put in solemnly.

Wily finally caught on, and raised his eyebrows for a moment. "No, no, it's just a coincidence."

"Maybe." Dr. Light mused, taking the picture back. He marched to the wall and hung it back up reverently. "Or maybe we really did belong here."

* * *

_1987 Heiwa Drive, 5 miles outside of Tokyo, Japan_

_The residence of Dr. Light and Dr. Wily_

_September 21__st__, 2052 C.E._

_7:46 P.M._

_She was sitting down at the foot of his bed…The vision of her was, at least._

_Light knew she wasn't actually there, and that it was just his troubled imagination that manifested her. He also knew by his own reading of psychological textbooks that his talent for picturing her was a worrisome sign of unresolved emotional anguish._

_None of that mattered, for he remained loyal to her after death, and lonely as well. As long as her ghost continued to appear, Light would never deny Vanessa Tercel._

_"I've missed you." He began, using the phrase he always started with some variation of. "So much has happened."_

_Vanessa smiled at him and said nothing. It wasn't often her image did speak, thankfully, because that would have meant more neuroses than Thomas wanted to deal with._

_"You know all about it. You've been watching us. The Metools are in full scale production. We even finalized the color scheme. It was a funny thing, actually. The production workers at our factory in Tokyo started painting the Metool's helmets for fun one day. Somebody had the brilliant idea to make the helmet yellow, and then added a green racing stripe and plus symbol on the front. In the end, they'd given the Metool a Japanese construction worker's helmet for a head. The design stuck after that." Light laughed a bit, and Vanessa giggled._

_Light sat down beside her and looked into her eyes. "It's finally over, though…Will and I are Japanese citizens. We filled out the last of the paperwork a few days ago. The Metools belong to the world, and we've ended up becoming heroes of humanity." He set his hands in his lap and sighed. "I don't know if I'm ready for that much responsibility. But it's like you told me: If I don't do it, who will?"_

_Vanessa nodded. _

_"It's not all good news, though. The United States recently announced that they would be starting up a competing robotics firm- U.S. Robotics. Apparently, everyone is taking a cue from Asimov's books. And you probably remember the slime ball that they put in charge there. Steve Wilcox."_

_She nodded again, and Light continued. "They'll be making Metools too. It's not like we can do much to stop them…Everybody can make them. Metools could conceivably still be around 100 years from now, because they're in the public domain. We have one advantage over U.S. Robotics. They've publicly stated that they will produce all types of robots. LightTech? We have a standing policy that we will never make warbots. I'm not too worried about losing business."_

_Vanessa craned her neck a bit and stared into his eyes. It was enough to make Light bite his lip to stop crying. "We're…We're going to do this. LightTech, the Second Rainbow…we're going to save the world. But I still miss you. You deserved better, Nessa. You deserved to live in this world!"_

_She reached up to the side of his face, and for a moment, he swore he felt her fingers graze his beard._

"Because you live in it, Tom…I still do." _She beamed at him._

"Tom?"

Thomas Light blinked and looked up. Wily was perched in the doorway of his room, frowning. "Al?" Light questioned.

"I heard you mumbling all the way downstairs." Wily explained. "Who were you talking to?"

Dr. Light looked beside him, saddened when he realized the image of Vanessa Tercel was no longer there. "No one."

Dr. Wily gave an unconvinced nod. "Come on. I've got the lawn chairs set up outside on the porch."

"Yeah, all right."

They marched out in silence until they reached the front door. Wily set his hand on the doorknob and held it shut for a moment.

"I miss her too, you know." Dr. Wily said quietly.

Dr. Light swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I know."

Wily watched him for a moment, then grunted and walked outside. Eddie stood perched on the wooden porch between the two lawn chairs, distracted by the sound of crickets in the waning twilight. The robot turned around and beeped at their approach.

Wily flopped in his chair and let out a long sigh. "Eddie, shoot me a brew."

The red fliptop beeped and snapped his lid open. A hiss of compressed air sent a tall aluminum can up into the air. It arced towards Wily, who caught it, popped the top, and drained a swig in one smooth wave of his arms.

Light stared incredulously at the display. "Shoot me a brew?" He repeated.

Eddie beeped again and launched a second canister at Light's head. The robotologist yelped and ducked away in the nick of time. "Gah! Eddie, stop it!"

The fliptop let out a lower, almost sadder beep and shut his lid. Light pointed at Wily. "You…you converted Eddie into a walking refrigerator?!"

"Cooler." Wily corrected him. "At the moment, not a very well insulated one. The real trick was rigging an air compressor inside of him, but I managed it. I've got more of a knack for modifications than you do, after all."

"So I remember." Light sighed, and sat down in his own chair. "Well, I suppose a little variety in Eddie's duties is acceptable. It will help him to grow."

Wily laughed. "Grow? Tom, his A.I. may be more advanced than Kay's was, but it is still rudimentary."

"True." Light mused, looking down at Eddie. "But I always believe in the potential for things to grow." He winked. "Eddie, pop me a cold one!"

Eddie beeped, flipped his lid, and another can flew up. This time, Light caught it.

Light looked at the label. "Foster's? This is Australian."

"It came in the mail this morning. A housewarming gift from our old friend, Titus Grant."

"Aah, Titus." Dr. Light grinned. "Thoughtful soul. It seems like everyone's had something to give us for moving here. Surprisingly, none of them have been jello molds. Or casseroles. Speaking of, I don't know if you saw it, but Oliver sent us a case of wine yesterday."

"I'm surprised he found the time during his honeymoon to get away and take care of it." Wily cackled. "Lord knows Jessica could use the break."

"I just KNEW he was boffing her." Light stated proudly. He popped the top of his beer and took a long drink. "Aah, good stuff."

"I was thinking of maybe inviting Titus to come work for us." Albert casually went on.

"What, you mean, for LightTech?"

"We run a global business, Tom." Wily explained. "Wouldn't you want someone we trust making sure all the parts of it have a decent IT department?"

"Well, sure." Light drained another draught. "You just surprised me, was all. I'm fine with it. Do you want to call him, or should I?"

"I'll take care of it." Wily pointed with his beer out into their front yard, where a Treeborg sapling, an oak tree type, stood freshly planted. "You should send Hyrmue a thank you for that tree, though."

Light smiled, and put his beer in the lawn chair's embedded cupholder. "You know something, Al?"

"No. what?"

"This is nice." Light nodded. "The two of us, sitting out here with some cold ones, looking out over Tokyo and enjoying the sunset."

Wily's mustache twitched when he smiled. "Yeah, it's a regular Norman Rockwell painting. At least you don't snore. That would make our living arrangements less than enjoyable. But for a change, I'm stumped on what we're going to work on next."

Light glanced down at Eddie and blinked. The robot that the press had called "A walking briefcase" blinked back, then turned around and waddled back in the house through the pet door Wily had installed for it.

_Him_, Light stubbornly told himself.

"Well, Will, I had a thought for a new project for us."

"What would that be?" Wily mused lazily.

"Oddly enough, it was your idea."

That made Wily sit up a little straighter. "Was it now?"

"Remember back on the _Daedalus_? You were excited about those atmospheric harvesters that supplied fuel to the hydrogen thrusters? I thought we should try and miniaturize the technology, make it feasible for the Metools. If we did that, we'd never have to worry about them ever running out of plasma for their welders ever again."

Wily bounced it around inside his head. "We'd be starting from scratch. We only saw it that one time, and now that jet's dismantled and scrapped."

"Not all of it." Light smiled. "Certain components and schematics made it through customs inside that wine crate Oliver sent us."

Wily broke out into a maniacal grin. "Why, that sneaky son of a…" He caught himself and reverted to a frown. "But that thing was powered by a fusion generator. What are we going to do about the power demands?"

"Hey, I didn't say it would be easy." Dr. Light picked his beer back up and set it between his hands. "I knew this was going to be a challenge. But you and I live for challenges. And it's like you said…What else do we have to work on right now?"

Wily pursed his lips to argue again, then sighed and lowered his head in defeat. "When Prometheus gave man fire, he was tied to a rock and got his liver eaten for all eternity. I suppose my punishment is to suffer with all of your crazy ideas."

"It's a brand new world, Al." Light raised his beer in a toast. Wily picked his own up, and they clinked the cans together.

Wily took a sip and smiled back. "A brand new world...Living in a brand new way."


	13. Keeping the World Alive

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Twelve: Keeping the World Alive**

"_Since, in the long run, every planetary society will be endangered by impacts from space, every surviving civilization is obliged to become spacefaring — not because of exploratory or romantic zeal, but for the most practical reason imaginable: staying alive." ­_–**Carl Sagan**

"_The best scientist is open to experience and begins with romance— the idea that anything is possible." _–**Ray Bradbury**

**

* * *

  
**

_Dr. Light's House_

_1987 Heiwa Drive, 5 miles outside of Tokyo, Japan_

_April 21__st__, 2055 C.E._

_6:45 A.M._

Dr. Light was dead asleep in his bed, without a single bothersome thought or dream to pull him from that relaxed state of mind. He was tucked safely under his comforter, with the sheets underneath kicked in every direction under him.

The last few years had seen some more of his muscle mass revert to body fat, giving him a more rounded appearance that his favorite T-Shirt and sleeping shorts ensemble did little to hide. He rolled over a bit and yawned ever so slightly, still well in the last parts of his dream.

He didn't detect the padded thumping footsteps plod into his room, nor the struggling sounds of his visitor climbing up the opened shelves of his clothes dresser to reach his nightstand.

As quiet as could be expected for a Fliptop, Eddie blinked his cartoonish optics at the sight of his primary creator slumbering away. He contemplated the human's need to sleep for some time before giving into the directive that had brought him there to begin with.

Eddie popped his lid open and activated the small LCD monitor installed in the underside. Like his compartment cooling system, the monitor had been another custom modification done by Dr. Light and Dr. Wily. Eddie thought that the LCD monitor was 3.56 times more useful than his beer-launching apparatus, because it allowed him to communicate with the two humans who had grown tired of using the translator handsets and earpieces.

**Good morning, Dr. Light. **The screen read. It was a flat expression. **I have been sent here to wake you up.**

Dr. Light didn't move. Eddie dialed up the brightness of the LCD Monitor, but all that made Dr. Light do was roll over and turn his face away from the screen.

Eddie deduced that in this situation, there was a 67.24 percent chance that Dr. Wily would let out an exasperated sigh.

**Very well. I am beginning alarm protocol W-14. **He snapped his lid shut and activated his speakers, playing back the pre-recorded sound clip that came with the specific program.

Dr. Light's room was suddenly blasted with 70 decibels of acid rock music, and the scientist let out a stunned yelp. He twisted around in his sheets and blankets for a moment, then reached a meaty fist over to his nightstand and slammed it down on the offending piece of electronics.

The sudden blow momentarily shorted out Eddie's speakers and forced the canister-sized robot to collapse backwards.

Light pulled his arm back, let out one soft sigh, and slipped back away to sleep in the silence that followed.

Eddie, however, was not one to be ignored, and he _certainly_ did not appreciate being pounded in the same manner as a snooze button on a radio alarm clock. He picked himself back up, shook his torso left and right for a moment to test his servos for damage, then waddled over and made the short hop onto Light's bed.

He wandered around Light's body and past the man's feet, then settled in place next to Light's head. The last one hadn't worked, so he tried a different pre-recorded clip.

A foghorn blasted straight into Thomas X. Light's face, and this time, he reacted violently enough to crash his head into the headboard of his bedframe.

Groaning through the pain, Light cracked one eye open and stared at the robot standing on his bed. "Eddie? What the Hell was that for?"

Eddie squabbled something in gibberish for a moment, then popped his hatch and flashed a translation across his viewscreen. **Dr. Wily ordered me to wake you up with one of his messages. The first did not rouse you. The second one has.**

"He programmed you with multiple alarms?"

**The third one apparently uses a sound clip from a movie called "When Harry Met Sally." I am not clear on the specifics, but…**

"Enough, enough." Light rolled his eyes. He had a feeling he knew what that message sounded like. "Fine, I'm up. Now get off my bed, Eddie."

**Based on your past sleeping patterns, if I leave now there is a 37.86 percent chance that you will fall asleep again. Perhaps I should play the next message?**

Light flung the covers back and got out of bed. "Never mind…Christ."

It took Eddie a few moments to disentangle himself from the comforter. **Dr. Wily is downstairs preparing breakfast.**

Light looked away from the viewscreen and headed for his bathroom. "He's not making breakfast burritos again, is he?"

Eddie beeped an unsure response and let it sit at that.

* * *

Ritual had unintentionally become a large part in the lives of Thomas Light and Albert Wily. There were rituals for how they ended the day, how long they worked most of the time, even when they stopped for a bite to eat. Barring changes to the schedule like a visit from Oliver Xanthos, a phone call from the forever harried and constantly more haggard Darwin Vinkus, or emergency updates from their friend and manager of their information systems, Titus Grant, all these things happened in much the same fashion and usually around the same times.

This particular morning was no different. Wily was already downstairs and fully dressed for the day ahead; blue jeans and a white button-down shirt with a red tie, standing over the stove with the smell of sizzling animal fat lingering in the air. Light came tromping down, missing one sock and still in his T-shirt and shorts.

Without looking, Wily moved a carafe of coffee to the end of the stove's countertop. Light meandered to a rack of old-fashioned ceramic mugs, selected one that read "Dirty old bastard" (His favorite), shuffled back to the coffeepot, and poured himself a glass.

Wily remained silent as Light plowed through the first long draw of the piping hot brew and exhaled the steam and fumes afterwards. To accent the sudden jolt of energy and caffeine that slipped into his stomach lining, Light promptly blew out a massive fart.

"Fire in the hole." He belatedly offered.

Wily rolled his eyes and flipped the sausage patties. "Every damn morning."

"Just making room, Will." Thomas Light smiled, using his friend's rarely spoken middle name. He glanced over Dr. Wily's shoulder and nodded. "Sausage? No breakfast burritos?"

"Not twice in one week." Light's roommate and best friend shrugged. "Sausage biscuits. Grab some plates, these are about done."

Light walked over a few steps and opened up one of the kitchen cabinets. He took out two small blue plates with a flower print pattern and set them on the counter next to Wily. "You want juice?"

"Coffee's enough for today."

"Heaven forbid you bother trying to get all your nutrients." Light pulled up some napkins. "Oh, I haven't thanked you properly for telling Eddie to be my alarm clock."

"Don't mention it." Wily chuckled. "You know, for a robot we made to be a walking briefcase, Eddie's proven to be quite utilitarian." He reached down and opened up the oven door. A baking sheet with two warm and fluffy biscuits waited inside.

"I'm sure." Light answered dryly. He watched Wily pull the biscuits out and drop them on the plate. "Need any help?"

"No, I think I've got this." Wily set the towel he'd used to grab the biscuits with back over his shoulder and split the biscuits in half. He turned the stove off and dropped a sausage patty on each plate, then handed one to his partner. "Big day today. You all set?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Light shrugged, taking the plate and walking over to the table. "Thankfully, we like big projects. If we lived by shorter deadlines, Al, this particle synthesis technology would drive us nuts. But you're sure this will take? We haven't had a successful synthesis module test yet that matches the power requirements."

"I'm well aware of the limitations on a Metool, Tom." Wily reminded his counterpart, sitting down and reaching for a napkin. "You programmed them, but I _built_ the things. This should work, though. Three years, we've been working on the drain. Not to mention our Metools just saw the newest ionic cell upgrade." He took a bite of his sausage biscuit and grinned. "It'll work."

"Hm." Light swallowed down some of his own meal and chuckled. "Are we taking turns with this optimism thing again, or have I finally swayed you fully to the cause of hopeful idealism?"

Wily reached for his cup of coffee and raised it up. "Tom, for as long as we've known each other, I would have thought you understood me by now. I've always been a bit of a dreamer. I just let you do most of the talking, and spend my time working in the details."

"Where the devil is." Light chuckled, clinking their coffee cups together.

"Quite." Wily agreed, and breakfast went on.

* * *

_7:35 A.M._

Three years of planning, inventing, re-inventing, incorporating other advancements, and tweaking all came down to this.

One Metool, the very same prototype they'd begun with three short years before was equipped with the newest tools. It stood at the center of their workshop and laboratory at the eastern side of their residence…Which also served as the scientist's laundry room. They'd pushed the clotheslines away for this experiment, of course. Next to the Metool was a one foot thick slab of Plasteel, a transparent composite material that had seen increasing use in all engineering fields since its development one and a half years before. Light and Wily were sitting on a pair of small green collapsible camping chairs, a laptop across Wily's legs and Light with a digital assistant in his hand. A video recorder in one corner of the room watched the robot and two scientists with an impartial eye, putting everything to flash drive for posterity.

"Give me a final systems check, Matt." Thomas Light called out, using the very human sounding name he'd jokingly given the yellow-helmeted robot. "Hydrogen synthesis module."

The robot chirped once in reply. Wily checked their monitor. "The Metool says the synthesis module is running normally."

"Hydrogen bottle?"

Wily sighed in exasperation as the Metool chirped again. "The _particle storage unit_ is active. Containment field is nominal. And stay away from the nicknames, would you? We're recording this for posterity."

"No can do, Al. I wouldn't be me then." Light chortled. "All right! Particle condensing emitter?"

Matt the Metool bobbed its yellow helmet up and down, flashing the green plus sign at them.

"Emitter is a go." Wily said, more for the camera's benefit than Light's.

"Quiet O2 compressor and burner feed?"

"Running. No errors."

"Electromagnetic field projector?"

"Nominal."

"Fuser flint?"

"Newly installed yesterday. No defects."

"All right. Last thing then, Matt. How are you feeling?"

The Metool thought about it for a moment, then let out a cheerful chirp and nodded again.

"I'd say he's just ducky." Wily grumbled. "Can we get started?" Light shrugged, and Wily looked down at their robot. "All right. Metool, engage your plasma torch and cut through that plasteel."

The Metool's comical circular mouth opened a bit more, and a powerful, near-blinding arc of converted plasma shot out. Condensed particles of synthesized hydrogen were fed out from the Metool's interior particle storage unit, ignited with a dose of oxygen from the interior compressor line, and kept roiling and in a definite cutting arc by the EM field erected by the projector about the thing's mouth. The air around the Metool began to lighten, as it absorbed the elements straight out of the air and broke them down into hydrogen particles for storage. With all that set in place, the only thing the Metool had to worry about was running out of power too quickly…

But that was why they'd spent so many months reducing the amperage load on the assembly.

The Metool started working, sending sparks flying in all directions as its plasma torch dug into the plasteel. It could either cut or weld, depending on the power setting, but in cutting mode, it started to make quick work of the block of transparent material.

Wily kept his eyes focused on his laptop, measuring the Metool's systems at a distance by the robot's remote monitoring transmitter. Light slipped on a protective welding visor and watched.

"This is incredible." Light gushed. "He's nearly a quarter of the way through it already!"

"That doesn't surprise me." Dr. Wily shrugged to hide his smile. "After all, we've essentially taken something that originally required a fusion reactor and hooked it up to a robot with rechargeable battery cells. The energy input to output ratio's tremendous!"

"How's the rest of it holding up?" Light went on, unable to look away from the sight of the Metool finally becoming what it was always meant to be; a reliable tools platform that needed only a recharge in hibernation mode every so often.

Wily had never broken his gaze from his laptop screen. "Hydrogen fuel consumption rate is stable. At current power drain, the Metool estimates it can go for another…" Wily beamed. "Oh, fantastic. Nine hours and a few minutes before needing a recharge."

"Unbelievable!" Light whooped. "Al, you saucy devil you! We've done it!"

Wily raised a hand up. "Hang on a second…something's not right here."

Light removed the welding visor and leaned over Wily's shoulder. "What is it, Al?"

Wily tapped one of the graphed readouts. "This…this shouldn't be rising. The Metool's particle storage unit is pulling in more fuel than it's using."

Dr. Light tugged on his beard with a frown. "That's not right." He agreed. "The synthesis module's supposed to run at a reduced rate during active use."

"I'm going to issue a shutdown command." Wily tapped out a code sequence and hit enter…waited…and swore. "It didn't take!"

"Matt, stop…"

"No, blast it!" Wily shouted, cutting Light off. "If it stops using that plasma cutter, the particle buildup will happen even faster!"

Matt the Metool let out an anxious questioning beep, turning away from the block. Even with his cutter still on, the two scientists were far enough away that there was no risk of accidental injury from the heat.

Light glanced down at the screen, then back over to Matt, then down at the screen again. "This is bad." He uttered. "It's a coding issue, but…"

Matt beeped at them again, and the translation came up on Light's digital assistant.

_**Cannot disengage synthesis module; error in code compounded by terminal short.**_

"Oh, Jesus." Light breathed. "Al, it…"

"It's going to blow." Dr. Wily finished, cutting to the point. "It's going to synthesize more hydrogen than it can store, it'll lose containment, and then…"

_**First Law precedence. Evacuating.**_

Without another word, the Metool spun about and charged towards the outer wall of the laundry room and laboratory. Its cutter made quick work of the old-fashioned siding, slicing open a portal just large enough for the Metool to squeeze through.

Light and Wily both stood up. Light shouted after the robot to stop, but he knew as well as Wily did that the robot wouldn't.

It knew, just as they did, that its own existence was forfeit through a programming error made worse by a shortout. Because of that, the First Law took over. To protect them, the Metool was attempting to flee as far away as possible.

It made it outside and wobbled off down the hill away from their home for nearly eight seconds before the hydrogen bottle's electromagnetic field lost containment…

The Metool exploded with the equivalent force of nearly one metric ton of TNT.

* * *

_Tokyo General Hospital_

_10:24 A.M._

The on-duty nurse at the front desk had just made it through a very rough night, and still had another thirty minutes before her shift ended. It left her marked with a permanent scowl, and a chip on her shoulder. The others in the hospital knew to avoid her. The unlucky visitors…?

Darwin Vinkus stormed through the front doors, oblivious to her bad mood, and carrying one of his own. He marched to the front desk and tapped once on the counter to get the nurses' attention. "I'm looking for two gentlemen who would have come in this morning." He spoke in Japanese.

The nurse looked at him and sighed in exasperation. "Friends or family?" She replied in the same tongue.

"Friend." Vinkus replied. "Their names are Dr. Light and Dr. Wily."

The nurse recognized those names. She sat up quickly enough. "The robot makers?"

Vinkus nodded. "That would be them. They were taken to the hospital this morning from their house."

The nurse typed in their names and glanced up at him again. "I'm sorry, but they're in the emergency ward. Only family is allowed in to visit them."

Vinkus narrowed his eyes. "Are they in critical condition?"

"Well…"

"Because if they are, I need to see them. If they're not, I still need to see them."

"You do not have the authority to demand that." The nurse snapped.

"Oh, I think I do." Vinkus replied frostily. "Take a good look at me."

The nurse stared at him for a moment. "I don't recognize you. Should I?"

The fire in Darwin's eyes died out a bit, and the middle-aged man who wore his stress as a man a decade or more older sighed. "My name is Darwin Vinkus. I'm the Second Rainbow's United Nations Representative…and their superior." To get the point across, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flashed his I.D.

The nurse paled slightly, but nodded. "Of…Well, of course. If it's for the…" She shook it off and motioned down the hall. "End of the corridor, turn left. That will take you to the emergency ward. They're still being examined."

"Thank you." Darwin muttered, stepping past her. "If I'm lucky, they didn't die in the time I wasted talking to you."

The miffed nurse watched him depart, then snorted. "Have a nice day…idiot."

Vinkus was already out of earshot, but he could imagine the muttered comments she'd offer in his absence. In his mind, she'd called him worse things. The U.N. Representative gave it only a moment's thought before he turned back to his worries about what condition he'd find the two geniuses…and friends, he'd finally admitted three years before…in.

A painful held breath was loosed out of his lungs when he saw the two sitting up on the ends of a pair of medical cots, awake and talking. They each had their share of cuts and burns, and there were some places on their clothes where the fabric had been burned away, but they were alive.

"For God's sakes." Vinkus choked out in English, storming over to them. "I got a call forty minutes ago telling me that there was an _explosion_ in your house!"

"Right outside of it, actually." Wily pointed out, wincing as the doctor beside him set another tension bandage into place. "_Verdammt_! A little more gently, if you please! My skull feels like somebody took a sledgehammer to it!"

Vinkus stared at them. "What happened?"

"Our latest experiment turned sour." Light admitted sheepishly. "We've been working with a lot of next-generation technology to try and make the Metools as energy efficient and self-reliant as possible. We'd finally cracked the synthesis technology that Oliver's old jet used…and miniaturized the components to fit inside a Met's hardhat undercarriage."

"And it was working." Wily jumped in, continuing the explanation. "Problem was, it worked too well. The damn thing was synthesizing more hydrogen out of thin air than it was using. The storage unit destabilized, and our test Metool became a literal walking bomb."

"Marvelous." Vinkus quipped dryly. "Is that what you're planning on telling the press? That you built a better bomb?"

"Now, hold on a second here!" Light backpedaled. He tried to stand up, failed, and leaned up against the medical bed. "Oof. Look, we didn't expect that to happen. It shouldn't have happened. Safety's been our number one concern the entire way through this process. I won't even tell you how long we spent making sure that the synthesis module wouldn't leech material from organic matter!"

Vinkus felt something clunk in his addled brain. "What?"

"It's nothing you have to worry about now, old man." Dr. Wily told their friend, using the nickname he knew Vinkus despised. "But for a while there, there was the very real possibility that in the absence of richer materials, the synthesis module would have drawn particulate matter from the most condensed source…which was us, for a while."

"A couple calcium supplements fixed up our bone loss, thankfully." Light smiled. "But we got it resolved. And we'll resolve this. The doctors here say we've got some minor burns, cuts, and bruises, but outside of some minor hearing damage, nothing too severe. We'll get the newest Metool modifications up and running and available within the week."

"It may take you gentlemen longer than a week." A crisply dressed man walked into the room, briefcase in one hand and a manila folder in another. His short-cropped hair was spiked back, and his gaze was unapologetic. "I apologize for the intrusion. My name is Hideo Okawaru, attorney at law."

Wily, Light, and Vinkus all stared at him for a long moment. Vinkus frowned first. "I _was_ having a private conversation with my two friends and work associates. Why are you here?"

"To deliver an injunction." The lawyer explained, handing over the envelope to Dr. Wily. "Over the last several months, many complaints have been issued by the other residents of your neighborhood. Noise pollution. Working into odd hours of the night when they try to sleep. Noncompliance with the block charter."

"Noncompliance?" Vinkus demanded.

Hideo nodded. "Specifically, the clauses dealing with what establishments are to be allowed on premises. Doctors Light and Wily, you have been working out of your home in violation of the block charter, and against your neighbor's wishes. It has made life difficult at best…and after this morning's pyrotechnic display, dangerous as well. Many of your neighbors were just preparing for the day when that explosion occurred. While your own domicile suffered the worst of it, several windows were blown in along the nearby houses. Most did not appreciate being showered with glass while they were eating breakfast."

Wily tore the envelope open and stared at the legalese within. He scowled and handed it over to Tom. "All right, fine. We're sorry we're noisy neighbors. And we're especially sorry that that explosion happened. It wasn't our intention, and it won't happen again."

The lawyer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Wily, but that isn't good enough. This injunction hereby orders you, under the strict order of the law, to cease and desist in all scientific endeavors and projects on the premises of 1987 Heiwa Drive and its land parcel."

"This is ridiculous." Wily snapped. "What we do helps to keep this world alive! Our neighbors should be grateful!"

The lawyer shrugged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of old-fashioned spectacles. "I believe there is an acronym from your country that the neighbors would use if they could…NIMBY." He bowed to them politely, then turned around and walked off.

Vinkus frowned. "I don't know that one."

"I do." Light mumbled. "Not In My Backyard." He slouched forward a bit and rested his arms on his knees. "I don't believe this. Can they do this?"

"Let me see that injunction." Vinkus growled, snatching it from Wily's grip. He scanned it over for a good thirty seconds before he shut his eyes. "Yes, they can do it. It's airtight, notarized by a judge and everything. Your neighbors must have been preparing this for a long time. Your little accident this morning sealed the deal."

"Then we'll fight it. We'll appeal." Wily argued. "Damnit, that's our _home!_ We're citizens here now!"

"You're still _gai-jin_, though." Vinkus pointed out. "Just like I am. Funny how that trumps everything here. Good luck finding a judge who'll let you keep living and working in your house after today. You won't. Trust me on this, I know politics. I hate it, but I know it."

"So what do we do?" Light asked lethargically. "What's our next move?"

Vinkus gave the injunction to Light and put his hands in his pockets. "For now? Move. Find someplace where you _can_ run these crazy experiments that might blow up. Someplace where there aren't any stupid neighbors. I'll help you out with it."

"It seems like a wimp's way out." Wily grunted. "We were here before them, after all. Why don't we fight?"

"You're alive, aren't you?" Vinkus retorted. "Whatever else happens, you're still alive. I don't know what I would have done if you'd…" His voice cut out, and Vinkus bowed his head.

Wily patted the veteran politician on his back. "Relax. We've lived this long without kicking the bucket. If a war and underhanded governmental scheming couldn't kill us, I doubt an accidental explosion could. You worry too much, and you're getting too old too fast."

"So they tell me." Vinkus let off a short laugh. "Even though my hair's going gray and the stress is making more wrinkles than crumpled fabric, don't you two forget I'm still younger than you."

"Not by too much." Light reminded him. He let out a sigh. "Do we belong anywhere, though? Where's home for us?"

Wily shrugged. "We never had one, Tom."

* * *

_Mauna Kea Observatories_

_Hawaii_

_April 22__nd__, 2055 C.E._

_8:30 A.M._

The ID scanners picked up the return chirp from the digital transceiver in the employee's identity badge as he strolled into the main building. The security guard looked up, smiled, and waved to the person carrying it.

"Aah, Dr. Murges. How are things?"

Dr. Felman Murges was an unassuming older fellow who hailed from Sweden. While some lived in fear of their follicles turning gray or white, Murges made his silvery gray hair and drawn face look positively regal. The tropical heat modified his wardrobe from a shirt, tie, and slacks to a more casual, weather-friendly set of khaki shorts and a cotton Hawaiian shirt. His old leather briefcase remained unchanged, and filled with documents related to his duties as astronomer and physicist for the Second Rainbow.

"Just fine, Kelly. Just fine." Dr. Murges mirrored the guard's friendly expression. "How's the girlfriend?"

Kelly, who was barely nineteen, blushed a bit and ducked under his hat. "I just met her, sir…I wouldn't say she's my girlfriend."

"But you like her, right?"

"Well…"

"Take my advice, son." Dr. Murges patted the fellow on the shoulder. "Be sure to tell her that. Girls like hearing that sort of thing."

"I'll think about it, sir."

"Good man!" Murges laughed. He turned away from the counter and headed for his office. "Enjoy life! We have it, after all!" Kelly the security guard nodded and waved after him, though Dr. Murges was long gone and out of sight.

Other members of the Second Rainbow battled more urgent terrestrial concerns. Dr. Murges, one of the brightest in a field of study that saw very little attention and funds given to it, enjoyed his simple and wholesome life.

Let the so-called superstars of the Second Rainbow…Hyrmue, Light, Wily, Froid, Cossack, Flynn…battle for dominance in the historical annals. Without the acclaim, there was only the thrill of research and investigation. The cosmos positively glittered with uncharted territory, and even within the Solar System, mysteries abounded.

It was the thrill of that pure, profitless research that allowed the Swede to wake up every morning and thank God he had survived mankind's stupidity.

Mauna Kea Observatories had not been spared from the ravages of war. Hawaii had remained a United States naval port, and though nuclear fire had not rained down on it, plenty of conventional weapons had. It was the desirability of Hawaii that had kept the Pacific nations from wiping it off of the map, and because of that, Hawaii had been remanded to U.N. control. It was not due to return to U.S. hands until 2089, when, hopefully, control of the islands would not be an issue.

The observatory had been a shining example of international scientific cooperation before the bombs fell, and it had been easy for the Second Rainbow to rebuild the observatory after. The design of it had changed, though.

Modern Mauna Kea Observatory was an amalgamation of the old-fashioned optical telescopes, an entire bed of high speed computers, and uplinks to orbiting satellites that watched the skies with sensor packages that would make the _Enterprise_ proud. Had it not been a Sunday, the observatory would have had a few more people running about and manning the stations and uplinks. Today, only Dr. Murges walked about inside.

His computer monitor came up with a wave of his hand over the keyboard's electronic sensor. _"Good morning, Dr. Murges."_ The machine intoned through the display's miniature speakers. The astronomer resisted the urge to reply to it, reminding himself that it was only a programmed message.

He set his briefcase on the desk and sat down. "All right, let's get this done with." He told himself. There was a new restaurant he wanted to try out, and as luck would have it, the head waitress was a fetching older woman who had promised him a free meal and the pleasure of her company. If things went well, he mused with a smile…

The vast array of sensors and satellites available to Mauna Kea's eyes covered the entire spectrum. Infrared, ultraviolet, and even gamma and x-ray emissions could be tracked. Some of the more eccentric (But hopeful, Felman reminded himself) members of the cadre that worked with and under him even kept a set of radio telescopes running full time under SETI protocols, constantly listening for some burp in the carrier waves with an artificial cue. The system allowed them to keep an eye on the observable Milky Way Galaxy, and even nearby galaxies besides. Soon enough, they would be able to stare back to the earliest eons of the universe.

For all of that, though, it was visual telescopes, highly advanced and digitized as they had become, that allowed them to keep track of the things that moved within the solar system itself.

_The more things change_, Dr. Murges chuckled. Clyde Tombaugh had discovered Pluto using a blink comparator…a machine that allowed a person to flip between two separate images. The process, even today, was much the same. The computers just made the process easier.

Pure research at its finest, he told himself. Of course, that wasn't quite how they'd justified the program to the U.N. budget committee…As Dr. Murges recalled, it was something along the line of doom and gloom from inbound heavenly bodies. Earth had been struck before by such things, of course, but outside of the comet that leveled Tunguska 150 years ago, nothing had harmed the world they lived on. Close calls, as interesting as they were, did not a tragedy make.

He logged into the tracking program and checked its results from yesterday and the morning, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. There were a few highlighted entries, of course. They'd been expecting those, and had been watching them. They wouldn't be a concern for another 300 years, at the earliest.

There was one new blinking entry. Flagged red.

Dr. Murges raised his glasses for a moment, then dropped them back on his nose. He leaned in closer and stared hard at the entry. Blinking meant new.

Red meant…

_**Previously unidentified Trans-Neptunian object. Size confidence high. **_

"Impossible." Murges muttered. He brought up the new entry, saved it to the observatory servers, and opened up the MPCORB database, the minor planet catalogue. Rogue objects didn't just appear. He cross-referenced the new mark with data tediously collected by astronomers for nearly 75 years…

There was no match.

"This is new." Murges exhaled. He added a new file to the MPCORB for the sighting, then opened up another program…The heart and soul of the observatory's technological prowess.

The new window's title proclaimed itself **Pathfinder**, partially in honor of the old Mars Rover, but also because the name was self-explanatory: It tracked the possible courses newfound objects within the solar system might take. There had been other programs of its like before, but Pathfinder was Dr. Murges' pride and joy, and the most advanced one yet. Still, even as he transferred in the new data, he told himself that Pathfinder had limits. Objects needed to move a substantial distance to make a differential the program could track, and…

_**Data compilement complete. Object course established.**_

Murges' eyes widened, and he lifted his glasses up to rub at his eyes. "Impossible." He said again, too flummoxed to notice he was repeating himself. For Pathfinder to already have a course, the object would have had to have moved at an incredible speed. He pressed the return key to let the program know he'd acknowledged it, and then watched and waited.

His mouth went dry. Pathfinder laid out the course over a digital map of the outer solar system. The new object cut through the Kuiper Belt at a slightly acute angle, just off of the axis. It tracked a path past Neptune, where the gas giant's gravitational pull swung it about in closer.

Then it passed by Jupiter, giving it just enough of a nudge to bring it in…

To the inner solar system.

"Looks like we have a new comet." Murges breathed out. It was probably from the Oort Cloud, finally tracking in after eons of lifelessness. He brought his mouse cursor about and zoomed in on the image, sweeping away from the view of the impressively large solar system and sweeping in to what was, astronomically, a very small region of space. Jupiter and the object's yellow course line sat at the very edge.

The path of it crossed just above the axis where the Asteroid Belt sat. Mars, in the projection, was nowhere near it. The object tracked in, moving on a collision course for the sun after its gravity swings…

Dr. Murges felt his eyes blur when he saw the yellow line suddenly turn red…

And meander its way into one unlucky object within the inner solar system that would be in the way.

_**Course accuracy currently at 82 percent. An additional sighting in half an hour is required for 100 percent accuracy.**_

"Do it." Murges croaked, already typing in that order to the Pathfinder program as he said it with a very shaky voice. He sat in silence, dreading the worst and praying a mantra that went _please be wrong please be wrong please_

The thirty minutes came and went, and Dr. Murges snapped out of his doomsaying daytime nightmare. He tapped the return key again, and waited.

The course didn't move. _**Target confirmed. **_

Murges slumped back in his chair and shut his eyes. "God." He sighed.

The new object was headed for straight for earth. It was at least fifty miles in diameter, probably wider, and it was gunning for them.

He didn't notice the phones ring an hour later, or the security guard named Kelly walking in. Head in his hands, Dr. Murges jumped in his seat when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Dr. Murges?" Kelly asked him. "Is everything all right?"

Felman Murges managed a weak smile and glanced to his monitor. It had thankfully switched to the screensaver, keeping that most damaging revelation away from the poor boy's eyes. "It's been better, I'm afraid."

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing you can help me with."

"Oh." Kelly murmured, slowly nodding his head. "Well, I hope things get better for you."

"We should always have hope." Dr. Murges agreed, relieved that the youth remained obtuse to what was now eating away at him. "What did you need?"

"Well, there was this woman…Portia Callender, she said…asking for you? Apparently, you were supposed to meet her for lunch. I said I'd check to see if you were here or not."

Dr. Murges shut his eyes. "I forgot. She'll be disappointed in me."

"Well, I have her on the line still, if you want to apologize."

Wining and dining would have to wait, Dr. Murges told himself.

"Tell her something's come up." The astronomer stood up and patted Kelly on the shoulder. "Pass along my sincerest apologies, and the offer for a rain check."

"Well…sure, I suppose, sir…If that's what you want." Kelly looked at him unsurely. "You sure you're all right?"

"Kelly, right now, I need you to do what I've asked you to, and leave me be." Dr. Murges said evenly. He didn't blink, and he didn't look away.

Kelly got the message, nodded, and walked back to the security desk in the observatory's entryway. This was business.

Felman Murges reached into his desk and pulled out a tiny pager connected to a handful of similar devices that the observatory staff all carried. Six months ago, he had put electrical tape over one button, the "Call all", after an embarrassing incident involving a former dance instructor, a beach at night, and the backseat of her car.

He pulled the tape off, and pressed the button.

Immediately after, he picked his phone off of its hook and dialed a number he hadn't called in months…

The Second Rainbow Headquarters.

_Ring._

Click.

_"SRHQ, Director Hostick speaking."_

"Paul, it's Felman."

_"Felman? My God! It's been a long time, old friend. How've you been down in the tropics?"_

"I've been better." Felman told the Norwegian. "We have a situation."

The mirth vanished from Paul van Hostick's voice. _"Bad?"_

"As head of the Mauna Kea Observatory, I am declaring an Omega Event."

He could hear Dr. Hostick suck in a sharp breath. He hung up and got back to work.

He'd said all he needed to. Omega Level was most severe of the Event warnings designed by the Second Rainbow's department sub-coordinators, and triggered a recall of all active Second Rainbow personnel to their home base. Omega Level hadn't been used at all since the Event system's development in 2049. It had been believed, after Hyrmue's Treeborgs solved the oxygen and ozone crisis, it would never be used again. Nobody ever expected it. Nobody wanted to.

* * *

_Matsushida Apartment Building_

_Nishitama District, Tokyo, Japan_

_4:15 A.M._

The phone was ringing.

Dr. Light opened his eyes and stared blearily at his alarm clock. He didn't like the time at all, and he especially didn't like that the day immediately after he had been told he could not live in the house and on the land he owned, someone would think it was all right to bother him.

Neither he nor Albert Wily were particularly conscious. After the doctors had confirmed they were past the worst of the trauma, they'd wasted little time in venting the rage at their situation in the only way they knew how: Getting blind stinking drunk. At least Vinkus had set them up in temporary housing before Wily'd gotten more than three shots of Bourbon into his stomach.

"Al?" Light croaked. Unlike in the house they could no longer stay in, their beds were now crowded together in one small, cramped room. Wily didn't move. "Al, the phone's ringing."

The scientist still didn't move. Light could hear the scuffling of metallic feet on the ground nearby. Eddie was apparently up and about from his own recharge cycle. He wasn't going to wake up Wily, though.

_Nice to know the little squirt can play favorites._

"Fine." Light sighed, and reached for the old-fashioned landline phone hooked up between their beds. "Yeah, who is this?"

_"There you are. Do you realize how many times we've tried reaching your pagers?" _Light cracked his eyes open a little wider. That voice…it sounded like…

"Oliver?" Light grunted and sat up a little straighter. "It's four in the morning."

Oliver Xanthos, the former Mr. X, was unapologetic. _"Time waits for no man's hangover to pass. Vinkus told me what you and Wily did to yourself after your little accident yesterday."_

Light sighed. "Al took the worst of it. No…wait. Scratch that. Eddie took the worst of it. Al used his head like a puke bucket."

_"For Eddie's sake, I hope you got the mess cleaned up."_

"Yeah, I ran him under the shower. Nice to know the Fliptops are relatively waterproof." Light shut his eyes and rubbed at them with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. "Now what is it? Last I heard, you were running around in Europe putting funding together for the World Power Plant."

_"I was, two days ago. I was actually on my way to come visit you, but it doesn't look like we've got the time."_

"Why? What's happened?" Light asked with a yawn.

_"You would know if you bothered to answer your pager. Director Hostick's sent out an Omega Event advisory. Everybody in the Second Rainbow has to report to SRHQ. Jessica's on her way out to pick you up…she should be there in two minutes."_

"Okay, sure." Light shook his head and tried to pull himself to full consciousness. "Is that all?"

_"…You really did go on a bender. I haven't heard you this off since I treated you and Wily to some of my family's personal vino 8 years ago."_

"No shit." Light slammed the phone back on the hook, flopped on his back, and rubbed at his eyes again. His mouth was bone dry.

Wily finally moved, and lifted his head up from his pillow enough to speak. "Who wuzzat?"

"Xanthos."

"Oh yeah? What did he want?"

"He said Jessica was coming to pick us up."

"Why? Did something happen?"

Light looked over, and saw Wily had finally cracked a bleary eye open. The scientist who was looking more and more like Santa Claus every day shook his head. "He said something about a big meeting at the SRHQ…An Omega Event, or something. I don't know." Light shut his eyes and laid back, enjoying his warm bed.

Wily blinked a few times, then sat upright. "An Omega Event?"

"Yeah, that's what he said."

"And you're not awake and scared shitless?"

Light let out a sigh and opened his eyes again. "Why? Should I be?"

"The Event advisory system that they made in 2049…Did you study it at all?"

"I skimmed over it. Just looked like too much bureaucracy for me to bother with."

"If you _had_ given it a look, you would know that we need to get moving." Wily snarled. He sluggishly pulled himself out of bed. "An Omega Event is bad. The worst thing. It's like hitting every alarm in the building, because the entire place is going to blow."

Light sat up as well, clenching his teeth against the swoon of vertigo. "So what causes an Omega Event, exactly?"

"Something's happening that will destroy the entire world." Wily walked over by their closet and flipped on the room lights. Thomas Light narrowed his eyes to slits to escape the blinding pain. "And we're being recalled to deal with it."

"They picked a mighty fine time for it." Light grumbled, lurching to his feet. He stumbled over a cold bump on the floor and faceplanted into Wily's bed next to him, earning an indignant beep from below. "Oof!"

"You all right, Tom?"

An indignant beep came up from the floor, and Eddie shuffled away. "Oh, I'm fine." Light said in a muffled tone. "Just tripping over things, is all. How much did we drink last night?"

"Too much." Wily advised him. "I'm going to go make some coffee. We might as well try to sober up before Jessica gets here."

Light stood back up, and was positioned close enough to the window to see a small VTOL airframe coming in for a landing in the apartment complex's parking lot.

"Better make that coffee to go." He advised his friend.

* * *

"All set?" Jessica called back over the transport's headset radios. Light and Wily, neither in the best of moods, but slowly getting there with two travel cup ready servings of their favorite caffeinated brew, nodded.

The lurch of takeoff was still slightly unsettling to Light, who gripped his armrests hard and thanked the lord for cupholders. Wily glanced over, twirling his mustache with a smirk. "You going to live, Tom?"

"Nobody's shooting at us this time." His ashen faced friend replied gravely. "I'll live." He shut his eyes and took advantage of the headset Jessica had given him so they could talk over the noise of the VTOL transport. "So Jessica, how's married life been treating you?"

"Pretty well, I'd say." She said, a smile in her voice. "The only real difference is I've got a ring on my finger to say he belongs to me now. The Second Rainbow's kept us pretty busy, though. Outside of our honeymoon, we haven't exactly had a lot of time to just relax and be a married couple."

"Relationships have their ups and downs." Dr. Light told her. "As long as you two don't stop loving each other, though, you should be just fine."

"Hm." Jessica looked over her shoulder to the two passengers and shrugged. "So what's this about the two of you blowing up your house?"

The transport leveled off and turned towards the nearby airport. Wily drank some of his coffee before answering the question. "We didn't blow up our house. The prototype synthesis setup in a Metool we were testing overloaded, and the little bugger ran outside. The explosion only tore a chunk out of the house's side and scared the neighbors."

"So now, we can't live there anymore, and we've got to find someplace else we can do our experiments." Light added bitterly. "As if we didn't have enough trouble getting the place on Heiwa Drive the first time."

"Japan isn't the cheapest place to live, considering…but you two aren't exactly poor." Jessica offered. "You'll figure something out. Maybe there's a far-off corner a few kilometers outside of Tokyo's outskirts you can hide out in. Someplace where there's a lot of woods, maybe."

"You have a place in mind?" Wily chuckled, drinking some more coffee.

The wife of Mr. X offered a noncommittal shrug and kept flying the plane. "There's a transport plane waiting at the airport for us. We'll be meeting up with some other Second Rainbow personnel. Your friend Mr. Grant, for instance, along with Oliver."

Light drank some more coffee and offered silent thanks for the smooth flight. "How many people from the Second Rainbow are they calling in to deal with this?"

Wily wasted no words or explanation.

"Everyone."

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_April 22__nd__, 2055 C.E._

_6:24 P.M._

There had not been an assembly like this one in eight years. Back then, they had come together for the first time as one, and were told that the hundred and some odd scientists, physicists, engineers, and technicians of every applicable field were the world's last hope at survival.

For the better part of a decade, they had given it everything they had. Some had died. Some had become outcasts. Some suffered on in silence. Their work had meaning, and slowly, steadily, they had begun to reclaim back the earth from the precipice it dangled over. They had nullified regions of sparse radioactivity, restored the ozone layer, made a new generation of crops, taken a sobering world census, reconnected global communication, and were beginning to rebuild.

Now, the first Omega Event to be issued since the system was established in the wake of the ozone crisis had brought them all back. The SRHQ was finished, and so it was not in a hastily constructed tent meeting hall, but the building's hologram-equipped, air-conditioned auditorium. It had seats for 600, and the Second Rainbow's project personnel numbered barely three-fourths of that…assistants and non-essentials included.

They shifted in their seats, muttered back and forth to each other. The questions were inevitable. Who knew what was going on? What was the emergency? Who had called it?

The members of the Second Rainbow quieted down when Director Paul Van Hostick walked up to the stages' podium. The weary old Swede looked around the room without smiling.

"All of you have been gathered because an Omega Event warning has been issued. Let me clarify something to ease your tensions. This threat does not come from a rogue nation, or any government collapse. Humanity has not raised arms against its fellows. If that were the case, you would know it before you came here."

A few did relax. Most did not. Both Light and Wily, who had recovered from their hangovers on the flight to Alaska, shared one quick glance before looking over to Oliver Xanthos and his wife, Jessica. The married couple, one row over and one down, clasped their hands between them and waited.

Wily looked back over his shoulder to where Ezriah Hyrmue, now a Second Rainbow retiree, stared back at him. The British cybotanist shook his head and mouthed the answer Wily had been seeking. _It's not me._

Wily stared back at the podium and twirled his mustache. If it wasn't a problem with the ozone again…then what would it be?

Hostick kept going. "I will be turning the stage over to one of our own in a moment, so he can explain what the threat is. Before I do, I would like to remind everyone that the world at large is not aware of this problem. Thanks to our on-site CNN reporter, Marcel d'Whyste, they _do_ know a meeting concerning an Omega Event crisis is taking place…" He motioned out to them, "…But not what it concerns. All non-Second Rainbow personnel have been barred from this meeting. We need to approach this problem as we have all others: With courage, with vision, and with unified effort. Until we can do that, we are not leaving this auditorium. The Second Rainbow is more than just a collection of scientists, my friends. We are the world's hope. When we leave here tonight, the world will see us at our best. Considering what we are facing, it deserves nothing less." He closed his eyes as if in prayer, then nodded. "Please welcome your comrade, and the one who sounded the warning…Dr. Felman Murges."

The fellow who had lived for years in a sweltering tropical climate now dressed in a full pinstripe suit, a Second Rainbow lapel pin on the coat's collar. He moved resolutely up to the podium, walking in silence without any applause to aid him. The determination in his eyes acted as a lighthouse for the others, drawing them in from the rocky waters of their own fears and doubts. Here was a man with the answers…a man who had the look of purpose to him. Having that helped them to relax.

He cleared his throat. "The name's Felman Murges. I come from Sweden, and my specialty is astronomy and physics. While the rest of you have been cleaning up the muck and leftovers around the world, I've been down in Mauna Kea with the rest of the Second Rainbow's astronomers keeping an eye on the skies above."

A look of sudden recognition passed over the audience. The mere mention of Murges' specialty had set their brains to working, and only one answer was thoroughly plausible…and frightening.

Dr. Murges closed his eyes and nodded. "I put out the Omega Event because of this."

The holographic projector behind him kicked on, putting up a grainy resolution photo above the stage of a tiny white dot in a sea of black and other white dots.

"We have designated this object as 73465 Epoch, or Epoch for short. It is roughly 135 kilometers in diameter, and likely hails from the Oort Cloud. Its composition is unknown for the moment, but given the region, it is likely a comet, a massive ball of ice." He paused to adjust his glasses. "Tracking indicates a near 100 percent chance that this object will strike the Pacific Ocean. The margin for error has it hitting either North America or Asia otherwise. In any case, this impact will be catastrophic; The asteroid that supposedly wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago in conjunction with a volcanic super-eruption is estimated to have only been 56 kilometers in diameter. What's drawing a line at us now is more than twice as large, and I promise you, if it hits, there will be nothing left on Earth. Nothing will survive."

Dr. Murges could feel the palpable silence drowning the room. He exhaled, and stared straight ahead, unable to meet their eyes. "We have five years before this object will strike us. That's five years to come up and implement a plan that will help us to either defeat Epoch, or escape its effects."

There was no shortage of ideas from the multitude, and those that were even somewhat versed in the asteroidal doomsday theory and some of the solutions saw them coming a mile away.

The direct approach was favored by some; launching a heavy projectile at the object, perhaps with a nuclear warhead, and obliterating it. That one was quickly shot down after it was determined the payload would only fracture it apart and leave a storm of radioactive asteroids for Earth to contend with. This method had the pacifists of the Second Rainbow in arms, because any use of nuclear weapons was unthinkable and abominable to them.

Another method was the altering of its trajectory through a slow and gradual burn. Steps had been made before the Wars into advancing ionic drives from their theoretical and prototype stages into a more acceptable means of spaceborne propulsion. This method had more converts, but the speed the object was moving at, as well as concerns about its yet unknown stability and composition made it moot. They might have been able to launch a series of ionic drive equipped space probes and program them to seek out the object and attach with it, but it could turn out to be a wasted effort if it truly was a comet. The closer it would come to the inner solar system, the more it would heat up, and the once solid surface the probes would presumably latch on to would be gone in a heartbeat.

In the end, after the panic had subsided and the other ideas had been washed away through thoughtful (And sometimes thoughtless) discussion, one proposal shone through. Oddly enough, it was Felman Murges who came up with the idea.

Forty minutes into the heated, but orderly debate in the SRHQ's meeting hall, the old Swede took his glasses off, rubbed at them for a moment, and then lifted an eyebrow suddenly. It was in a lull in the conversation, and the sudden movement from the scientist captured the room's attention.

He pondered the notion for a bit longer, then stared up at the ceiling.

The SRHQ Director spoke up in the silence. "Did you have something to add, Dr. Murges?"

"An idea. Perhaps." Felman mused, turning towards the audience again without looking at them. "An energy weapon."

Nobody laughed, and that was a sign of how serious and knowledgeable the Second Rainbow was. Laser weaponry had been perfected during the wars. Plasma weaponry was still coming into its own. Anywhere else in the world, his remark would have been met with derision. Here, they listened.

"Ideally, we should build something that can not only stand against this threat, but can also handle whatever else will come our way after. That means a lasting installation, something we can not only build, but do maintenance on as needed. Something outside of Earth's atmosphere, so there will be no possibility of diffusion or refraction. Multiple power sources…Fusion reactors, naturally. But also, we can take a note from our forebears…solar energy."

His eyes lit up. "More than solar energy. A solar cannon."

"You mean to harness the sun to make a beam weapon?" One of the agricultural specialists asked dubiously.

"The sun is the largest, most enduring power source we have." Dr. Murges argued. "We would be fools not to take advantage of it. Unfocused sunlight is what causes comets to burn away its mass into a vaporous trailing tail. A focusing array could increase that power. Perhaps even the range. With it, we might just be able to redirect its path by eliminating its mass."

"Even with that, there will be no force behind it." Paul Beskin argued from the left center. "Changing its mass will not alter its course in any meaningful fashion unless that alteration is sudden. A solar cannon's a nice idea, but we've never done anything like it before. It's untested, and we need to come up with serious strategies to stop this."

"Listen to yourself." Ezriah Hyrmue piped in bitterly. "_We haven't done it before. _Of course we haven't done it before, you stupid yank. Eight years ago, we'd never tried to repair a failing ozone layer, but we did it. And we didn't accomplish that miracle playing it safe or complaining about the odds. Desperate times call for crazy ideas, and I'm all for building this…well, whatever it is…and giving it a try. It's gads better than firing off every last nuclear missile and hoping it doesn't bite us in the arse later, or launching ionic drive rockets and trying to alter the course of a mountain with a few sherpas and a camel."

"The bloke's got a point." Titus Grant agreed, bobbing his head. "If we can undo radiation poisoning in the earth, the atmosphere, and living creatures, build mechanical trees, and make robots that live up to Isaac Asimov's vision, then I say we can pull this off too. The Hell with it all. I'm in."

Dr. Yuri Cossack, the grizzled botanist from Russia and the father of his estranged son Mikhail "Sergei" Sergeyivich Cossack, had a more sobering tone. "If you try to build a planetary defense platform with just a single weapon, then you're all damn fools. It's going to take more than a flashlight to stop this thing, I promise you…and lasers just won't cut it. To put a dent in this thing, you'd need an armory of explosives."

Wily sat up a little straighter, and Light could tell by the glint in his frosty eyes that his partner had something devious in mind. "Or a plasma cannon."

This suggestion did cause people to laugh, none more so than those who loved to see the two robotic geniuses of the Second Rainbow fall flat on their faces.

"A grand idea, but one sorely lacking in sense and sensibility." Came the response from Bailey Flynn, the Irishman who'd perfected fusion power. "Nobody's been able to crack that egg since we first started talkin' about it."

"We're close, though." Wily insisted. "Thomas and I have been developing a new advancement for a self-contained plasma arc welder that functions through an enclosed toroidal effect. We've been building it for our Metool line, but it shouldn't take too much extra effort to enlarge it. I'm positive that with this much time, we can bear down and complete it!"

"Oh, aye." Dr. Flynn yawned. "And whose house were ye planning on blowing up next, then?" His snappy comeback evoked more laughter from the room, and Wily went red in the face.

Light intervened, setting a hand on his friend's shoulder and glancing about the room with a stern gaze, daring them to say more.

"Accidents happen. We don't let it stand in the way of progress. Al believes we can get this done. I agree with him. As much as I loathe using any technology of our making for weapons, even those that would be made in self-defense, this "Epoch" has left us no choice. For the sake of the earth, we must do everything in our power." He pointed at Dr. Murges. "You'll get your plasma cannon. I just hope to Christ your orbital platform will have the juice to sustain it."

Dr. Bailey Flynn let out a long sigh, and shrugged. "Before ye all get going too crazy with this idea, perhaps we'd better put it to a vote. After all, a project like this one, you're talkin' _vast_ mobilization of resources. Everybody's going to have a hand in this if we go with it." He jerked a thumb at Yuri Cossack. "Hell, even the botanists are going to have to do some work, starting up a process of perfecting plants that kin grow in zero gravity."

Director Hostick took that as his cue to head back up to the podium. "All right, then. All in favor of going with Dr. Murges' asteroid defense orbital weapons platform, raise your hands."

Fully sixty percent of the audience raised their arms in a vote of aye…and upon seeing which way the wind was blowing, the rest soon followed. Hostick stared out over the unanimous crowd, and felt a lump rise in his throat.

"The motion passes. We're moving ahead with this." He glanced to Darwin Vinkus. "You're our U.N. liason, Mr. Vinkus. Put together a statement for the press and a bulletin to the Security Council. We've been given the authority to use whatever resources are needed to put this planet back on its feet…We may need more approval to build something that will defend it instead, although I doubt we'll have anybody that says no."

"Unlikely." Darwin muttered from his spot in the audience. "This "Epoch" is enough to make even the most tightfisted spendthrift slash the moneybag open."

Director Hostick stepped aside and set a hand on Felman's shoulder. "All right, old friend." He told his countryman. "You're in charge of this project. Just tell us what you need."

Murges took in a deep breath, and the enormity of what he had just proposed fell on top of him. He managed the extra weight well enough, though.

"For now, I need to meet with all the engineers who've had anything to do with building spacecraft, and a reference file of all space stations going back to Skylab. We'll be recruiting Second Rainbow members as needed. We've got five years, and I guarantee that each and every one of you will be called up before the end of this. For now, get back to your business…Except for Dr. Flynn. Do you think you can start work on an oversized fusion reactor for this behemoth?"

The Irishman's curiosity was piqued. "Just how large are we talking here, boyo?"

Murges pursed his lips. "We're trying to shoot down or redirect an object 135 kilometers across. Plan on the station being three kilometers in diameter at the least." Flynn swore, and Murges forged on, caught up in the moment. "My fellow members of the Rainbow, this is what we came here for. This is what we've prepared for. This is our make or break moment, and I don't know about any of you, but I think we've all the brilliance and courage to save the entire planet. The Earth's kept us alive for a very long while. It's time we repaid the favor."

A few seconds later, Director Hostick dismissed them, and the rank and file of the Second Rainbow headed for the doors, murmuring quietly to themselves about what would have to be done.

Light and Wily stayed in their seats, watching it all and absorbing the last hour. In particular, they had trouble dealing with what they'd just agreed to.

"You told him we could build him a toroidal plasma cannon that could shoot down a planet-busting asteroid." Light muttered.

"And you agreed with me." Wily shot back. "See what happens when we try a role reversal? Your ideas may be crazy, but they're plausible. It seems as though I've landed us in a mess of trouble, old friend."

"It's just work." Dr. Light resolved, standing up. "It's a nice way to end a hangover, though; with more work ahead of us." He held out a hand for his friend.

"Hm." Wily stood up with Light's assistance, tottered for a bit, and then took a deep breath of air to steel his nerves. "The first thing we need to do is find a house where the neighbors won't mind us causing explosions in the middle of the night."

"Screw that noise." Light snapped, walking them towards their old friend Titus Grant, who was riding home with them. "We'll build our own damn house out in the middle of nowhere."

"Where?" Wily chortled. "You know how expensive land is in Japan."

"We're filthy stinking rich and we've got more friends than we know what to do with." Light grinned. "We'll build it wherever the Hell we want to."

* * *

_CNN Live Broadcast_

_Second Rainbow Headquarters, Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_April 22__nd__, 2055 C.E._

_7:47 P.M._

"We now take you to our Second Rainbow on-site reporter, Marcel d'Whyste…Marcel?"

_"Yes, thank you, Tom. I'm standing just outside of the SRHQ's main audience chamber. Earlier this evening, I was barred access to this pavilion, as the entire staff of the Second Rainbow was called into session. We were not sure what was the cause for the meeting, and the only piece of information I was given was that an Omega Event had been declared. For those of you that are not aware, the Second Rainbow has a rating system to label the various crises they address. An Omega Event is the worst possible scenario; a worldwide threat of great magnitude. This emergency summoned all personnel from every corner of the globe, regardless of prior task or purpose. It had been believed after the ozone layer was restored that there would never be another Omega Event._

_About 20 minutes ago, the closed session of the Second Rainbow's members got out. I, along with the rest of the press stationed here at Ewan Lake's premiere destination, tried to speak with them for some clue as to what had gone inside. I was left with a cold shoulder and a repeated answer that Darwin Vinkus, the U.N. representative for the Second Rainbow coalition, would speak to me. We have been waiting here for him to make an appearance since then, and I.._

_Wait. Ladies and gentlemen, I think I see him now. Yes, he's coming this way. Representative Vinkus! Sir, would you mind telling us what went on in there? And why were you so late in coming to speak with us?"_

_"Believe it or not, Mr. d'Whyste, not everyone has time to waste jawing newspeoples' ears off. For the record, I was busy preparing a statement for the United Nations security council about what was discussed inside. You get the abridged version. Are we rolling?"_

_"Never stopped."_

_"Good. You're only getting this once, because we're going to be very busy around here in short order. One of our scientists, an astronomer working down in Mauna Kea in Hawaii, picked up an inbound asteroid heading for Earth. The thing's called Epoch, and it's scheduled to hit five years from now, and closing fast. The thing's about 84 American miles in diameter, and if it did hit, there wouldn't be enough of a planet left to save…and there wouldn't be anybody left to save it. The reason we were in closed session was because we didn't want anybody panicking until we'd figured out what to do about it."_

_"So there's a plan, then?"_

_"You can print that. The Second Rainbow has a plan. We're committing all necessary and available resources into the construction of an orbital asteroid defense platform. The best and the brightest from the Second Rainbow are working on this, and they're coming up with some pretty phenomenal ideas."_

_"So how exactly do you plan on keeping this Epoch asteroid from hitting earth? I'm not certain, but wasn't the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs about 30 miles wide?"_

_"More or less. As I said, a lot of good ideas will be going into this."_

_"Such as? Will you be using nuclear missiles?"_

_"The Second Rainbow threw that idea out in the first fifteen minutes of discussion. No. There's too much of a risk of fallout…radioactive and political. I won't go into the specifics of what all's going into it, because the project manager's still working on that and getting people together."_

_"So who's all involved with this space station? Who's in charge of this?"_

_"The man you want to speak with is Dr. Felman Murges, astronomer and physicist from Sweden. But I'm going to warn you, d'Whyste…keep out of his hair for the next few weeks. He just got a lot dumped on his plate."_

_"I see. Well, I won't keep you from your own pressing duties too much longer. Is there anything else you wish to add to your disappointingly brief statements?"_

_"Just this; The Second Rainbow was created to save the world after humanity fouled it up. This expands our mission statement a fair deal, but there's not a doubt in my mind that we will triumph. To those of you out there listening in your homes, scared and frightened…don't be. We're going to make it through this. We're going to live. We're going to shine." _

_"Thank you, Representative Vinkus. Well, ladies and gentlemen, there you have it. Straight from the mouth of the Second Rainbow's voice. An asteroid is set to hit Earth in 2060 with more force than what wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago, and the men and women of the Second Rainbow will be making a space station to stop it from making impact. There's certainly a lot more to this story, and I'll be trying my darndest to get the scientists here to open up about it. I'll let you know when I hear more. For now, this is Marcel d'Whyste, from Second Rainbow Headquarters in Alaska, signing out."_

"Thank you, Marcel. This is certainly a dark day for humanity…Our hopes and prayers here at CNN headquarters go out to the brave heroes within the Second Rainbow. The entire planet is counting on you. Godspeed."

* * *

_12 Miles North-Northwest of Tokyo, Japan_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, southern edge_

_April 30__th__, 2055 C.E._

_11:32 A.M._

An entire squadron of Metools swarmed over the worksite, chirping and beeping as their Japanese human overseers, wearing the same style of helmet the Metools wore, barked out orders at them.

_"Oi, nan dai o?! Aah, roboto no baka!" _One frustrated overseer groaned as one Metool used a buzzsaw attachment and cut off a piece of treeborg lumber two inches shorter than it needed to be. He squatted down and pointed. _"Mijikaku suru koko de, wakarimasu? Wakarimasu yo?!"_

The Metool beeped back at him, and the human stood back up. He took his helmet off and wiped at his forehead.

Standing back and watching the hastily assembled building project, Dr. Light and Wily calmly sipped beers with their friend and employee, Titus Grant. The Australian raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"You know, you two yanks have gotta be the only people I know that'd go out and get this many Metools to build a house."

"Just because most of these so-called "Hard Hats" have been put to work in damage recovery zones and mining operations doesn't mean they can't be used for other things." Dr. Light remarked. "Hell, we made them with utility in mind. Give them the right tool for the job, and you've got yourself a workhorse."

"Not to mention one that doesn't mind overtime, provided you give it time for a stasis nap and a recharge every now and then." Wily added.

"Huh." Titus took a draw from his longneck. "Why do you advise shutting down all your robots periodically?"

"It gives them time to clean up their memory cache." Light smiled as another Metool used a specially modified motorsled to haul a load of bricks closer to the worksite. "From the EDY series and on up, everything we've made runs on a positronic matrix with Asimovian heuristics. Basically, all those little decisions that a robot makes throughout the day get filtered through the Core Module, and the memory buffer in there is pretty huge, but the more a robot does, the more it adds up. While it hasn't happened yet, it is plausible that a robot who didn't go into stasis and allow their Core Module to refresh the memory cache might end up…well, glitchy."

"_Glitchy?"_ Titus repeated, raising an eyebrow. "How exactly would that work?"

"Think of it like a water filter." Wily said. "When you run water through it, the impurities get left behind. Then you replace the filter. Same thing happens with our robots, only the impurities are bits of data from past decisions. The filter gets full enough, the robot can't process commands as easily. It gets sluggish, its processes slow down as it tries to compensate…theoretically, it could lead to a cascade failure."

"But, like I said, that hasn't happened yet." Light smiled. "We get slow and sleepy when we go for too long without a good six hours or so. The same thing happens with Metools, and thankfully, the people who use them are good enough to know when they're not running at peak capacity and let them plug in, shut down, and recharge."

"Most of the time." Wily said. When Titus looked at him, he explained the remark. "There was an incident in Bern, Germany…some putz hooked up a Metool to a wireless energy receiver and kept it active for three weeks straight. It ended up going haywire and marching into an active blast zone; only thing that survived the collapse of that old bombed out building was its helmet."

"That says something about the helmet." Titus laughed. "I still think you two were crazy to volunteer making a plasma cannon. I thought you two had sworn off ever making weapons."

"We refused to make robots as weapons. But the fact of the matter is, even if we may not like it, this project's going to need that plasma cannon." Wily kept a grim perspective. "I just wish there was some way that nobody could ever take our gifts to humanity and turn them into tools of pointless self-destruction."

"We'll get there." Light promised his friend. He looked to Titus and nodded. "I've got a promise to keep, after all. The one I made to Latch."

The mention of Latchkey put a solemn spin on their conversation. All three of them still remembered their long dead fourth team member in the Rainbow's foundling days.

Every man standing there still remembered the boy's last words. _Up to you._

"To old friends." Titus exhaled, raising his beer.

"Old friends." Light repeated the toast.

"We'll build this one weapon. Just one." Wily agreed. "And maybe by the time we're done, we'll have saved a world that Latch could be proud of."

"He's already proud of it." Dr. Light said distantly. His eyes turned back to the worksite, and he sipped some more of his beer. "I had the foreman promise they'd finish the workshop first."

"What did he say when you told him you'd be working on another possibly exploding Metool when they got it ready?" Titus asked.

Dr. Thomas Light grinned, looking for a moment as crafty as his wild-haired counterpart.

"I didn't tell him."

* * *

_Mauna Kea Observatories_

_Hawaii_

_May 3__rd__, 2055 C.E._

_7:52 A.M._

Dr. Murges wasn't surprised to find Kelly on call again. He marveled at how the young man, who'd barely been a preschooler when the Wars started, could turn out so perfectly normal.

The security guard looked up and smiled as Murges flashed his badge. "Morning, doc."

"Good morning yourself, Kelly." The silver-haired Swede said. "How are you feeling today?"

"Pretty good considering, sir." Kelly tipped his hat. "You and the Second Rainbow are on top of things, and my girlfriend…"

"You've finally started calling her that?"

"Well, after I told Susan I loved her, the rest fell into place." Kelly blushed. "We had a romantic picnic with cold crab legs last night."

"I understand, I understand." Dr. Murges waved off the rest with a chuckle. "Young men do love to boast about their conquests, but I'd best not allow myself to become distracted."

"Yeah, you've got that space station to build." Kelly nodded. "I heard that it's supposed to cost upwards of a trillion dollars?"

"I'd rather have it be expensive and work than cut corners and die in 2060, son." Felman tapped the edge of the security guard's desk and smiled. "Well, then. I'd best get to work and stop jawing your ear off." He picked up his briefcase and walked towards his office.

"How far along is it, anyhow?" Kelly called after him.

Dr. Murges waved back, but didn't answer.

After the rest of the Mauna Kea astronomers greeted him warmly and offered their own wishes for success, he set his briefcase down beside his computer and powered it up. After logging in, he checked his inbox.

The message was from the Engineering division he'd tapped back in Alaska. They'd finished their preliminary schematics.

_There's room for alterations here and there, but this is the most functional design shape for solar collection and redirection. We're still not sure how Light and Wily plan on putting their plasma cannon into the mix here, so that may change things. If we can collaborate with them in the final stages, there might be a way to put your solar cannon on top of their plasma shooter. (Side note; can we think of a better name than cannon? The warlike connotation is something we'll want to avoid, for publicity's sake.) Take a look, confer with your astrophysicists at Mauna Kea, and get back to us with approval or any changes you'd like to make._

_P.S: This thing's going to need a name. We couldn't think of a good acronym that had enough punch ourselves. Any thoughts?_

_P.P.S: Director Hostick's sending out a space veteran to help you out; he should be arriving before noon today. You probably know him; Georges Shaler._

"Shaler?" Murges exclaimed softly. He rolled his eyes and laughed. "Yes, I know him." The Spanish-born engineer had cut his teeth in the Rainbow helping Light and Wily to reposition pre-Wars satellites into a functional communications network, and had remained the reigning authority on orbital equipment. Murges remained somewhat surprised that Shaler hadn't been put in charge of the project instead of him, but maybe Shaler preferred the role of distant advisor.

_If only I were as lucky_, Murges thought. Shaler would end up getting the better end of the deal. He would be free to work without the stresses of being in charge of the massive undertaking…and the bothersome attention that came with it.

Murges shoved that one irritating detail out of his mind and opened up the attached schematic.

The station's design resembled that of a large flower blossom, petals outstretched around it. The scale of the construct was mind boggling; a full five kilometers wide, there was no doubt it would be the largest structure in space.

At five kilometers width, it put all other construction projects, save for the Great Wall, to shame.

_We're building this_, Murges realized. A faint buzz rose in his ears. _This thing is enormous, and we're building it._

Kelly's blurb about the cost had been accurate. This orbital defense platform would be the most expensive thing the Second Rainbow had yet done. There were still questions about how it was going to be built, even; piece by piece and rocketed up into the atmosphere for quick connection, or would they have to build it all in orbit to make sure it held together? And how would they defend it from smaller meteorites, tiny bombardments during construction?

The Second Rainbow wielded enormous power under the United Nations. Approving the budget for this was mere formality, and were it anything else, the Second Rainbow wouldn't even bother to ask; they'd just do it.

"Might makes right, eh?" Murges mumbled. There were days he wasn't comfortable with the influence they had, necessary and as prudent as it might be.

Hopefully, corruption would not follow the Second Rainbow's far-reaching power. Their immediate and most pressing problem was the 135 kilometer wide Epoch heading their way, but it would be nice if they didn't sacrifice everything that kept them honest in the process.

_Put it to bed, Felman. Stay focused. They asked you to name this thing._

He pondered that question in silence for a full two hours. It was only a beep of his phone that brought him out of it. He reached across his desk and punched the speakerphone button. "Murges here."

_"Dr. Murges, there's a Mr. Georges Shaler here to see you."_

"Ah, the Castilian." Felman smiled. "Send him in. I've been waiting." He switched the phone off, stood up, and brushed a few errant gray hairs off of his usual Hawaiian shirt and shorts.

A swarthy black-haired Spanish man came into his office not long after, beaming wide and holding his arms out to the side. "Aah, j'es. Doctor Murges, it is good to see j'oo."

The purposefully exaggerated accent made Felman crack a grin and laugh, bringing the man in for a handshake and a slap on the back. "You still keeping up that voice of yours, I see. Be honest. Does it really help attract the ladies?"

Shaler pulled back a ways and shrugged with a coy expression. "Eet never hurts." He said, then switched to a more normalized voice. "Now then. Have the engineers at SRHQ gotten back to you yet?"

Murges motioned for Shaler to follow him and showed him the monitor. "I was just staring at their preliminary blueprints."

_"Dios mio_, that thing is enormous!" Georges exclaimed. He set a hand on Murges' desk and leaned in towards the screen. "Five kilometers?"

"It needs to be that large." Murges gave his head a quick shake. "This thing's got multiple power sources, and we're planning on making it bristle with every known armament possible. This solar cannon idea of mine, laser artillery, non-nuclear missiles, and of course, that plasma cannon that Light and Wily said they could build. God willing."

"I sincerely hope that you have some way of ensuring the already tense population that this orbiting station of destruction will never be used on them."

"Already thought of." Murges assured his cohort. "We'll be giving the navigation systems a hard-wired command to shut down all systems if it ever rotates in to face the Earth. It won't have a reason to, though; all the solar panels will be on the reverse side of the 'petals' to keep in line with the sun. Turning the station around would be a waste of resources and time."

"Good, good." Shaler nodded. "Well, what did you want me to do, now that I'm working under you?"

"Do everything I can't." Murges advised the Spaniard. "Chances are good I'll be too busy filling out progress reports, answering questions, and doing paperwork to get anything detailed and specific done on this."

"Aah, then you are becoming a true leader." Shaler chuckled. "Delegating tasks and authority. Very well. I shall do what I can. In the meantime, I have been wondering…what exactly will we be calling this floating defender in the skies?"

"I had just gotten done thinking about that when you came in." Felman puffed his chest out proudly. "It took me a bit to think of a name and designation that would fit it. _Spaceborne Kaleidoscopic Yield, Large Interdictive Guardian (with Heliofocusing Transformer)_."

Shaler blinked. "That in itself is quite a mouthful."

"Well, I picked out the definition after I came up with the name, that's part of the problem for why it's so odd sounding." Murges explained.

Georges Shaler crossed his arms. "For your sake, I hope it is a good one."

"It'll do." Murges' eyes twinkled. "_Skylight."_

Shaler sifted the word around in his head. "SKYLIGHT, eh?"

_"_Project SKYLIGHT." Murges confirmed.

Shaler laughed and patted Felman's shoulder. "It will do, sir. It will do."

"Yeah. The name's out of the way, at least." Murges harrumphed. "Now comes the hard part. Building the damn thing."

* * *

_The New Home of Dr. Light and Dr. Wily, Workshop_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, 12 Miles NNW of Tokyo, Japan_

_May 10__th__, 2055 C.E._

_2:47 P.M._

It was a different place, a different experiment, but the basics remained the same as Dr. Light and Dr. Wily ran through their final checklist. Another Metool, no longer their now atomized comrade Matt but a newly created one, sat in the durable workshop…within a blastproof plasteel container erected for the test.

"Hydrogen synthesis module." Light called out.

Wily checked his readouts. "Synthesis module is running normally. The code changes we put in to ensure decreased production during active use are holding. No glitches."

"Hydrogen bottle?"

Wily sighed in exasperation. "The _particle storage unit_ is active. Containment field is nominal. Didn't I tell you before to use the proper name for it?"

"I ignored you then, I'm ignoring you now." Light chortled. "All right! Particle condensing emitter?"

The Metool bobbed its yellow helmet up and down, but without the same quirky character Matt once had.

"Emitter is a go." Wily said.

Light drummed his fingers on his leg and checked the next item on his datapad's list. "Quiet O2 compressor and burner feed?"

"Running. No errors."

"Electromagnetic field projector?"

"Nominal." Wily glanced over to Light. "I'm worried, though. We're using it beyond its original design specs. We built it to make a containing EM field for the Metool's plasma arc cutter/welder. We never intended to have the plasma toroid maintain field strength long enough to have it function as a 'bullet.' Even with this crystal focusing rod to tighten the field, I'm worried."

"You never know if something will work until you try." Light reminded his friend. "Nice to see you're letting me be the optimist again."

"It didn't suit me. Besides, telling Murges we'd make him this plasma cannon counted as my dumb bright spot of hopefulness for the year. Right now, I'm just hoping we don't blow ourselves up."

"Look at it like this. We've eliminated the fuser flint. This focusing rod does the same thing, and it prevents a spark hazard. It also gives us a bit more control over the toroid strength and size."

"In theory."

"This is all theoretical, Will." Light rolled his eyes. "The checklist is clear. Let's do this."

"All right. Here goes nothing." Wily started recording the Metool's sensor data and whistled at it. "Metool, go ahead and power up your plasma cannon. Aim for the target."

Inside, a dense lump of ferrous iron and carbon from deep in the earth stood ten feet away from the yellow helmeted robot. The tiny mechanoid blinked and centered in on the red and white painted target circle they'd crudely painted on the chunk of rock, and opened its mouth.

Positioned where they were, Light and Wily could not make out the details, but both knew full well that the Metool was powering up its systems. First would come the EM field projector, which defined the shape that the plasma toroid would take on. Next, a dose of synthesized hydrogen and compressed oxygen would pump into the space within the shielded field…and then ignite with a powerful, focused blitz of energy through the crystal focusing rod placed inside of its mouth. Once set aglow, the ruby-colored focus would further attune the plasma to the EM field, giving it an inverse cohesiveness; the charge of the plasma itself helped to power and support the bullet's edges.

Oddly enough, the red color of the focusing rod would make it seem as though the Metool had a tongue.

There was a flare of light in front of the Metool, and Light and Wily both shielded their eyes as the Metool unleashed the shot. Almost instantly came the sound of a small explosion, and the plasteel shield around the experiment rattled.

Disappointed, Light and Wily lowered their hands and expected to see the Metool lying in a destroyed pile of melted scrap.

To their amazement…and joy…the Metool stood undamaged.

The lump of rock twice its size, however, had been blown apart into tiny, glowing chunks.

"Holy shhh…" Light hissed.

Wily's mustache twitched as he let in a gentle smile. _"Ja. Ser gut."_

"There's nothing left of it." Light stammered. "That Metool just…busted it apart."

Wily blinked. "Say that again."

"I said, it busted that rock!"

"…Plasma buster." Wily mused.

The two scientists shared a look.

"It's got a good ring to it." Wily went on.

"Yeah…sounds a lot better than plasma cannon, I'll give you that." Light brushed a hand through his hair. "Jesus."

The Metool turned about and looked up at them, beeping expectantly.

"No, you don't need to shoot it again." Wily sighed. "There's nothing left to shoot _at._" He checked the Metool's vitals on his laptop. "You're not going to believe this, Tom…But we've finally stabilized the synthesis module."

"…No errors? Even after that?"

"None." Wily turned it around and showed him. "Heh…All green. Congratulations, Dr. Light. We've succeeded in making a popgun that can blow up a boulder."

"Without blowing ourselves up in the process." Light said. He scratched at his beard. "We've got some more testing to do…range versus energy dissipation, that sort of thing…but I'd call this the end of phase one."

"Yeah. All the steps in between come next." Wily agreed. He walked over and opened up the blast container, picking up their test Metool. "And only _then_, do we get around to doing what we came here for."

"Yeah." Light took the Metool from Wily and set it on one of their worktables. "Command code; Unit shutdown for recharge and stasis."

The Metool chirped and settled in under its helmet, going silent and cold.

Light and Wily headed outside of their workshop and took a look around the still busy worksite. Human construction workers and Metools working side by side continued to build up the rest of their house, sitting on the edge of the massive Treeborg grove. A set of railroad tracks ran by their house, only thirty yards off.

They looked up at a clear blue cloudless sky and covered their eyes.

"We just saved this world." Light told Wily. "I'll be damned if I let some chunk of space rock wipe us all out after everything we've done."

"Well, nice to hear you're fired up about this." Wily chuckled. "All you have to do now is make a plasma buster 2000 times larger and more powerful."

"Way to take the wind out of my sails."

"Just keeping things in perspective, Tom." Dr. Wily smirked. "I didn't say you couldn't. It's just going to be a lot of work."

"We've never backed down from a challenge before, old friend." Dr. Light said. Wily looked at him and nodded.

Project SKYLIGHT was crazy. It was big, and expensive, and hardly even started…

But in a world on a deadline and filled with possibilities and brilliant minds, crazy fit right in.

Perhaps tomorrow Light and Wily would begin to worry. But for now, they savored their moment of scientific triumph, and enjoyed that perfect day.

Out in the fringe of the solar system, Epoch drew closer.


	14. Skylight

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Thirteen: Skylight**

"_If we have learned one thing from the history of invention and discovery, it is that, in the long run-and often in the short one-the most daring prophecies seem laughably conservative."_ **–Arthur C. Clarke**

**

* * *

  
**

_From the Diary of Thomas X. Light_

_November 27__th__, 2057 C.E._

**The more things change, the more they stay the same. It's an older quote, but still relevant, especially for the world we live in right now. I'm now 44 years old, as is Albert. He's lost most of his hair, and has developed a massive bald spot. What's left, two tufts sticking out to the sides, is graying out considerably, and I'd give it another year and a half before all the black is gone. He doesn't try to hide it, though; no reason to. **

**Not when we have bigger fish to fry.**

**Project SKYLIGHT's finally getting constructed. They're putting it in Earth orbit on the far side of the planet. Dr. Flynn's been working up a storm powering up the fusion engines, and thankfully they've recovered enough Tritium from the Moon to make it possible. The finalized schematics place SKYLIGHT at being nearly five kilometers in diameter. Some people laughed at the flower petal array, but it does make a lot of sense, now that we're actually building the damn thing. They offer a tremendous amount of surface area for the solar panels, and can be folded in or held out during operations. We started work on a few of the petals first, rather than the core. Flynn was still finalizing the fusion drive at the start, and we needed to get the photovoltaics running to power up our operations. The core of SKYLIGHT is going to take the most work…Current estimates are that it'll be the beginning of next year before we get Dr. Murges' solar cannon into an operational state.**

**One of the major reasons we've been able to keep to our deadlines and work so efficiently is that it's not just humans working on this project. LightTech Industries scored a major contract with the Second Rainbow to make space-capable Metools. We've even started developing a humanoid robot called a KIF; Kinesthetic Intelligent Foundryman. Other firms have gotten similarly lucrative contracts, like Sennet Robotics and (Though I'm loathe to mention them) U.S. Robotics. The lion's share of the workload is with the company that Albert and I developed seven years ago. **

**The fact is, most of the work is being done by robots. With the solar panels up and running, they just have to juice up and rest up every so often before they're right back and moving in the thick of it again. Not everybody's particularly happy about that…There's a lot of organizations and grumbling on the ground below that they're taking up a lot of work and jobs that could go to humans. And sure, maybe we could have more human workers up in orbit developing this thing…but it would be a lot more work, and cost a lot more money, and it wouldn't get done as fast. As much as they may not like it, robots can do it faster, cheaper, and better. **

**Wily doesn't always enjoy that philosophy, and I can sympathize. It's one thing to have robots helping us. It's another to turn them into our slaves. Wily's afraid of humanity becoming lazy and unmotivated. I'm worried about us becoming smug…beyond reproach. Hubris has been the cause of many disasters in humanity's development, especially with new technologies. While our robots are very simple-minded and require constant instruction and monitoring from the few human overseers we do have up in the orbital worksite, I do feel a change coming…As though sometime, soon or far away, we will have succeeded in developing AI that has a human or superhuman intelligence. I'm not concerned about a "Skynet" scenario, not with the Core Module and the Asimovian Laws in place…but I am worried that there might come a day where humans force robots to do **_**all**_** their work for them. When that day comes, and the robots have experienced enough to develop sentience…**

**Will they come to resent us? I see cues of that possible future already with Eddie. He was our very first Fliptop unit, and has been active now for many years, working alongside Al and myself. He has a very dry approach and limited responses…but every now and then, I see him hesitate when we ask him to do something that, were he human, he might disagree with. He always does it, though. The Laws keep him from refusing. I've decided to treat Eddie as a person, in spite of Will's scathing remarks about my anthropomorphizing an **it**. It may be wishful thinking on my part, or just hopeful thinking, but if Eddie is to one day cross a threshold into a new state of existence, I would rather he see us as friends than masters.**

**Humans and robots living together in peace…That is my dream.**

**Even as Skylight is heading into full swing, the United Nations has opted to hedge its bets. Enough people in the Second Rainbow and the larger scientific community disagreed with the orbital defense platform as the sole defense that they've added something else. Sennet Robotics, the brainchild of Trenton Corbun, collaborated briefly with Dr. Flynn's team in the construction of a series of five dual-motored rockets. They launched from Cape Canaveral nearly a year and a half ago.**

**The plan, as Trenton told me once, is that they'll fly out on ionic power, and charge up their fusion reactors on the way. The rockets are all programmed with the same level of intelligence as a Metool, and run on the Core Module. These days, everything does, it seems.**

**The five rockets, which the press has taken to calling "Corbun's Magic Bullets," are scheduled to meet up with Epoch in January of 2058, just as Epoch swings by Jupiter. I don't quite understand the physics of it myself, but what they're intending to do is "Nudge" Epoch off of its trajectory. The rockets' fusion drive will break down and use the ice of the comet itself to power the thrusters…and Epoch is a comet. Mauna Kea Observatory has been watching it like a hawk, and it's started to form the usual vapor tail.**

**I'm hoping that their plan does work, if only because we can all breathe a sigh of relief and resume our lives and our work after. More pragmatically, the United Nations is hoping Corbun's "Bullets" work so they can stop funding SKYLIGHT.**

**The trajectory altering rockets were budgeted at 5 billion dollars each, 25 billion in total. Compared to Skylight, it's a drop in the bucket.**

**No matter what happens, the wheel of fate is spinning. Epoch is getting closer, the Bullets are racing to meet it, and SKYLIGHT is slowly growing out from its skeleton. **

**God willing, we'll survive this.**

**

* * *

  
**

_University of Tokyo, Mechanical Engineering Department_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_November 30__th__, 2057 C.E._

_9:42 A.M._

"The science of robotics is fast transforming itself into an art."

Dr. Wily stood in front of a room of College students at the University, all of whom were engineers in their own right. All of them also hoped to one day become renowned architects of robotics. He had been invited as a guest speaker, and saw it as a fair trade; Thomas Light had already been signed up as the keynote speaker at winter graduation. Some took notes, copying down the text from their portable audio translators…another invention of his partner's. Others simply listened, more confident in their English.

"Robots are always built first for their function, but a secondary expectation has developed; appearance in design. People expect today's modern mechanoids to be personable…non-threatening. This psychological desire manifests itself in the sales reports of several powerhouse companies…LightTech included."

The wild-haired scientist tucked his hands into the large pockets of his lab coat and swaggered out from behind the podium. "Our top sellers are the various models of Metool…Yes, those squat little hardhats." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and tapped the top of his head, earning scattered laughter from the nervous audience. "We have developed Metools that can function in every conceivable environment; Underwater, in arid, static-electricity ridden deserts, humid jungles, and even the vacuum of space. The last one I mentioned is making a vital contribution to the construction of Project SKYLIGHT."

He turned slightly to face a different side of the classroom. "One looks at a Metool and is instantly calmed. Between its nickname's namesake and the cartoonish face, a Metool is made to be approachable. Even the KIF unit, LightTech's newest contribution to the growing world of mechanoids, keeps this philosophy in mind."

Wily paused for a moment, frowning before continuing on. "Robots are performing tasks we once believed could only be accomplished by human hands. They are more efficient, require no renumeration, and do not offer complaint. With the Rules of Robotics in place, they will forever be a friend to humanity. But I would be remiss if I did not caution you of a threat from within…Ourselves."

This last proclamation caused a murmur of confusion to rattle through the classroom. "As future roboticists, or robotechnicians, or robotologists, as my good friend Dr. Light refers to himself, you have a responsibility to safeguard humanity against its own carelessness…its indifference. There will always be a need for robots, make no mistake. Robotic advancements have helped us to recover and preserve this world over the last decade." Wily pointed at them. "In the years to come, we will need a new generation of builders. And when that time arrives, build your robots based on what humanity needs…not what it wants."

"But did not you make your fortunes making popular robots? Like Fliptops?" One student posed suddenly.

Wily tucked his hands back into his lab coat's pockets and thought about it for a moment.

"LightTech's early robots, like the EDY series, are generally not as utilitarian as the ubiquitous Metools. The Fliptops were designed to act as more of a walking, semi-intelligent briefcase. In that regard, though they may not be a specific necessity, they do not replace a human worker. My reason for caution was that every robot designed to do the work that a human can makes our species more and more obsolete. Coming out of a terrifying World War and the cleanup that followed, we need every human involved and working possible. Without jobs, we become irate and irresponsible. Protests follow, and then violence. The potential for backlash is tremendous, and as someone who has spent the better part of his life reading the writing on the wall, I have no desire to tempt fate. Heed my advice, and you may one day even be bright enough and seasoned enough to join us in the Second Rainbow." Stonefaced, Wily rubbed the end of his mustache. "God knows we need all the help we can get."

There was a pause, and then Wily finally cracked a smile. "Well, that's it. You can relax now, the old man's done talking."

A few scattered laughs were followed by more enthusiastic applause, and the classroom's professor came over to shake Wily's hand. A few general words of praise and small talk occurred while the room emptied out, and then Wily made his departure. The man bowed to him as he left.

The corridors of the university held no love for Albert William Wily. It did spark a few old recollections here and there of his own time at Cal Tech before the Wars, but by and large Wily was a man of few friends and few memories.

He glanced through a window and saw some students congregating outside in a courtyard, laughing and talking with their books in their arms. He narrowed his eyes and let off a derisive snort before opening the door. He kept his biting commentary to himself, which worked out well as he passed by a surprised group of students that gave him a large berth.

Wily's phone went off. He pulled his wireless earpiece out of his pocket and set it over his right earlobe. The ringtone, a brief tidbit of Journey's "Believing" made him chuckle. He'd meant it to poke fun at his eternally optimistic cohort, but Light had taken it as a source of pride.

"What's up, Tom?"

_"Huh. I didn't know if you'd be done with your campus visit yet. I thought that the College President had invited you for lunch."_

"You've eaten food at one College, you've eaten at them all." Wily rolled his eyes and kept walking. "Besides, I didn't feel the need to stick around today. No point in it."

_"So how did your presentation go?"_

"Oh, I spoke, they listened." Wily trailed off for a moment as he walked through the dying greenscape of the campus lawn. Winter had come hard, and even without snow on the ground, he saw glimpses of the possible future only three years away. "Whether or not they heard me is another matter."

_"What did you tell them?"_

"What they needed to hear, but what they likely didn't want to."

_"Oh, geez. You hit them up with that "We have to limit robotic development" bit?"_

"It's a valid point of ponderance, Tom."

_"For crying out loud, you only got your hand on that copy of Carl Kapek's book a month ago. Why have you adopted its precepts so thoroughly, especially given that Kapek's scenario's impossible with the Core Module?"_

"It wasn't that many years ago we had robot armies marching across the world, Tom." Wily reminded his friend darkly. "Where do you think the bulk of U.S. Robotics' business comes from? They're still making robots as weapons of war. Where's their Core Module, hm? They're built to violate the First Law."

_"…Well, yes, but…"_

"I'm not saying robots are bad. Hell, we make our living off of them. They're playing a vital role. But if we don't convince today's kids to remember that they're not the solution to every problem, we'll have a bigger crisis on our hands. And this time, it won't be the fault of religious fanatics and warhawk governments…it'll be our own lethargy biting us in the ass."

Wily heard Light sigh. They'd had this argument before, and most days, Light was content to let it drop and change the subject. _"Well, if you're done at the College, swing on back. Dr. Ha's just arrived, and he brought a sample for us to tinker with."_

"Xuan Ha?" Wily's interest was perked. "You mean, he's got bubble lead with him?"

_"Well, it _is _what he's famous for, isn't it?" _Light jokingly retorted. bubble lead had been a breakthrough alloy in the lastwaning years of the Wars by Dr. Xuan Ha of Vietnam. Heavy in its normal state, underwater it took on a more buoyant nature and flexibility. It had taken several years of tinkering and tweaking within the invention-friendly environment of the Second Rainbow for Ha's genius to be recognized, and bubble lead had become a vital component in underwater operations involving the transportation of heavy equipment. _"He wants us to try and synthesize it."_

Wily scoffed. "We're going to bump into the same problem, Tom. As effective as the synthesis modules we've created are, the matter they create is inherently unstable. That's why we never took it beyond trying to produce hydrogen for plasma formation."

_"I didn't say it'd be easy, did I?" _Light teased him. _"I realize that anything synthesized breaks down within a minute or so. We don't have to worry about the time constraint here. The fact is, if we can crack this, we'll be able to have underwater Metools that can synthesize bubble lead for smaller moves. Just imagine it; one Metool could do the work of five in the same time!"_

Wily contained the sigh, as much as he wanted to. Once again, Thomas Light knew how to cheer him up and get him moving again.

There was nothing quite like a challenge to brighten the "Mad scientist's" day.

"I'll be home in twenty minutes. Start a pot of coffee."

_"Black as sin." _Light laughed. _"See you in a bit."_

The phone disconnected, and Wily tucked his earpiece back away. A few minutes later, he walked off the campus and to a bus stop, where his fortunes blossomed with the appearance of an electric bus just two blocks away and coming.

He glanced at his watch as the bus pulled up.

_November 30__th__._

"Two more months." Wily reminded himself quietly. Two more months before Sennet's "Magic Bullets" approached Jupiter in an attempt to divert Epoch off course.

The bus pulled up and opened its doors. Ignoring the curious looks from an old woman carrying a sack of groceries beside him, Wily stepped on board, swiped an ID badge over the transport's reader, and took a seat.

His time at College had been spent in study, hard at work. Somehow, Thomas had been able to live the scholarly life and the plebian life at the same time.

To his credit, Albert Wily was not jealous of his partner's broader experience…

Though that may have had something to do with the belief, right or wrong, that he had nothing to be jealous of.

* * *

_Sennet Robotics Incorporated_

_American Branch Office_

_Sao Paulo, Brazil_

_January 20__th__, 2058 C.E._

"Sennet Robotics has earned a place in the diverse field of robotic engineering by taking the big risks." Trenton Corbun said, walking backwards as he spoke. A crowd of reporters and cameramen followed the CEO of the world's third largest robot firm through the bustling complex. They were traveling through a ventilated transparent corridor above the sterile wetworks below, a part of the factory that constructed the motherboards, processing chips, and other vital circuitry Sennet's robots ran on. "The bulk of U.S. Robotics' business is through mechanoids developed for military applications. LightTech has made its indelible mark with a growing array of robots made to supplement, and in some cases, replace work forces all over the globe and above it. We dabble in a bit of everything, and do a couple of things the others never got around to." The man who was forever the believer in crazy ideas and hopeless causes grinned to the camera crews, who ate it up. The brains of LightTech, Doctors Light and Wily were notoriously camera shy, and U.S. Robotics refused to put anybody on the holovids that wasn't a duly appointed spokesperson. In an age when the world clamored to know who was in charge of creating their robots, Trenton Corbun stood first and alone as the beaming star in the public eye.

More so now.

"Even though we use LightTech's Core Module to power the positronic matrices of our mechanoids, we have developed product lines that neither of our competitors ever matched. Exploratory robots built for oceanic deployment have helped scientists track the movement of ocean currents for comparison with past years, as well as mapped out sites for underwater mining. Similar robots have been built for deployment in razed disaster areas and uninhabited lands. Seen another way, LightTech makes robots that build. U.S. Robotics focuses on robots that blow things up. Here at Sennet, we're all about finding things. A recent example?"

He guided them out from above the wetworks rooms to a more normal looking laboratory area, where several models of Sennet robots were on display. He motioned to a massive, goofy-looking metallic fish with red scales. It resembled an anglerfish in appearance, save for it being twenty feet long and easily twelve feet high.

"This is one of the larger robots we've made in our first few years. They have a more accurate designation, but I've taken to calling them "Big Mouths" for sake of ease."

That earned some laughs, and Corbun reached inside the thing's slightly open mouth. He pulled out a smaller mechanoid which resembled a shrimp. "The Big Mouths are a carrier robot with a focus in exploration. Each Big Mouth carries a complement of twenty-four of these smaller "Chums," which can be launched to chart and scan areas independently. The Big Mouth thrives in an ocean environment; the natural salinity of saltwater helps to power its constantly recharging batteries. The Chums run on a less adaptive ionic power cell, but can return to the Big Mouth and dock for a recharge and data upload. Both types of robot are able to withstand the intense pressures of the ocean depths up to 21,000 feet. It's one of the robots I'm most proud of here at Sennet…especially because I had a hand in building it."

"Did you design the self-replenishing battery?" One reporter asked.

Trenton grinned wider. "Nah. I got to pick the color." The joke at Corbun's own expense paid off, and the reporters jotted down the anecdote as they chuckled. "We've received orders from Mining Consortiums as well as oceanographic institutes for these. A few have shipped out and are in use, and more will follow. There are other kinds of robots we make here at Sennet, as I told you, but I imagine none of you are in the mood to be bored to death by more lectures."

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "So! What say we head to our conference hall and tell you about what you _really_ came here for?"

Unseen by the pack of reporters and the omnipresent Trenton Corbun, Oliver Xanthos and Jessica Xanthos took a more leisurely stroll on the opposite suspended wetworks corridor, smiling behind smoked one-way glass. He was dressed in a more conservative long gray and white overcoat because of the season, and Jessica had a lined coat of her own, and wore a scarf over her black hair.

"We could have gone with them, you know." Jessica mentioned to her husband. The bronze-skinned Grecian smiled at her, full of love as he always was. He may have been seventeen years older than her, but it had never mattered to them. She loved the man, not the legacy.

"Well, yes, we could have." He acknowledged the remark with a lascivious wink. "But somehow, that just wouldn't be me. What's the point in owning 25 percent of the shares in a company if you can't have a tour of the place whenever you feel like it? Besides, crowds aren't my style."

"No, they aren't." She agreed quietly. "You've always enjoyed your privacy. Don't you think you can put an end to it, Oliver? Everyone knows who you are now. You've reinvented yourself and your fortune."

The older gentleman, now 56 years old, shrugged sadly. "It's hard, trying to change who you are. Maybe I've spent so much of my life hiding who I really was I still have a hard time taking off the mask."

"Except for me." His wife added. Oliver laughed, a sound she didn't hear enough. It raised her spirits. His levity didn't last very long, however…she had a misstep and started to slide away.

Oliver caught her quickly, instantly concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She assured him, smiling again…though weaker than before. "I'm just tired from the chemo, is all."

"Let's get you back home, then." Oliver breathed. She tried to put on a brave face for him, but he could always see through it. They had no secrets from each other, and she couldn't mask the pain she felt any better than he hid his own feelings.

Jessica gently pushed him away after righting herself. "No." She said firmly. "I'm not going to let this cancer rule my life. I'll be damned if I let it rule yours. We came out here to take a look around, and that's what we're going to do."

Oliver looked to the floor. "I know. I know, but…"

She lifted his chin up with a steady hand and stared him in the eyes. "I'm not dying here today. The doctors are keeping a very close eye on the ovarian cyst, all right? Once they push it back, they'll take it out. We'll be done with it. So considering I'm the one it's going after, the least you can do is cheer the flop up."

She winked at him. "All right, dear?"

The firm resolve, Jessica's ceaseless fountain of strength, finally made her husband nod again. "All right."

"Good." They resumed their walk, and Jessica checked her watch. "If I remember the schedule correctly, we're going to meet up with one of Sennet's up and coming superstar engineers…"

"Oh? What's their name?"

"Aah…" Jessica frowned and looked up to the ceiling to think. "Cossack, I think."

"Hm." Xanthos set a hand in his pocket. "Don't we have a Yuri Cossack in the Second Rainbow? I think I heard he was working in the bio-weapons cleanup division."

"Apparently, this is his son." Jessica smiled. "His _estranged_ son."

"Heh!" Oliver laughed. "What, daddy didn't appreciate what his little boy was doing for a living?"

"I suppose." Jessica shrugged. "You want rumors, talk to someone else. I gave up the cloak and dagger stuff when you fished me out of the ocean."

"True, true." Xanthos hummed. "Best catch of my life." He joked, earning a raised eyebrow and a wry stare from his wife. "Still…It sounds like someone I'd like to meet. Yes, indeed."

A door up ahead opened out, and a twenty-something red-haired man with glasses and a trimmed pointed beard stepped out. He had a clipboard in one arm, and wore a pressed, antistatic laboratory coat.

The fellow looked over to them, blinked, and then waved as they came closer. "Mr. and Mrs. Xanthos, yes?" He asked in thickly accented English. Russian, as expected given his heritage.

"And you would have to be Yuri Cossack's son…" Oliver extended his hand. "Mikhail, wasn't it?"

The engineer shook his hand. "Doctor Mikhail Sergeyivich Cossack…Please, call me Sergei. Everybody does."

"Sergei it is, then." Xanthos pulled his hand back, smarting; the engineer had a strong grip. "I thought I'd let you know, I saw your father a week ago over in New Amsterdam. He seemed to be doing well."

"Is that so?" The robotic engineer mused, clearly unimpressed. "Well, that is good, I suppose."

"You don't seem too thrilled with the news."

"_Da. _My father and I…we…how you say…not talk very much together these days." The red-haired Russian shrugged nonchalantly. "He does not like a son who works so closely with machines. I saw no reason to change to please him, so, here I am."

"You have to do what makes you happy, that's what I always say." Oliver agreed with a polite smile and nod.

Sergei Cossack stroked his chin, pleased at the advice. "It is so. Come, then! I have been instructed to give you private tour of facility. We can begin over here, in my department." He turned about and walked back through the door he'd appeared from.

"We're all yours…Sergei." Oliver Xanthos chuckled. He hesitated out in the hall for a moment longer and looked to Jessica, leaning in to whisper. "Something tells me we'll want to keep an eye on this young man. I think he'll be going places."

"Is that the only reason?" Jessica prodded, stepping into the doorway and winking at him. "I would have thought you were interested because he reminded you of yourself."

She disappeared inside, and Oliver Xanthos rolled his eyes and laughed quietly. He followed after her, quietly nodding.

Jessica had been right once again. The young Dr. Cossack certainly did strike a chord with Xanthos.

* * *

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Japan_

_January 22__nd__, 2058 C.E._

_2:52 P.M._

The one good thing about living so far off the beaten path was that it gave Dr. Wily a chance to escape the noise and clutter of metropolitan life, something he had never been truly comfortable with.

The fact that he got to ride a train to get home, and that the train took him miles outside of Tokyo's suburban edge didn't hurt one bit at all.

The locomotives they ran were mostly powered by refined steam engines-hydropower-but the old fashioned wheel and rail system had been kept intact along this stretch. The bulk of Japan's rail system ran on the more updated maglev system, but it took a lot of power to keep that grid charged up. In the age of heightened social conscience and awareness of the balance between the self and the world, conservation was the popular keyword.

Wily put up with the bumps that came with the ride and smiled, keeping one hand on the reusable canvas bag of groceries he'd gone into town for. The train's wheels began to squeal to a halt, and against the listed regulations, stood up while the cabin was still moving.

He was at the door when the locomotive pulled up to the small station. The cabin's loudspeaker announced the Shugoya stopoff in Japanese, but Wily tucked it away and got off with a few workers and a few tourists. The tourists gave him odd looks, and the Treeborg specialists who knew their eccentric neighbors didn't pay him any attention at all. The sight of an American with wild white hair and an equally enormous mustache eventually lost its shock value.

He meandered off of the train, through the station's exit gate, and down the small dirt road that connected the Treeborg Preserve with the depot. From there, it was only a few minutes' walk until he reached an even smaller road that led up a slight hill on the edge of the artificial woods to the house he and Thomas Light lived in.

He opened up the door and dropped his keys on the table beside the entrance. "I'm back, Tom." Wily called out loudly. He kicked the door shut behind him, keeping the groceries balanced in his arms. "I got those Hot Pockets you wanted. Only picked up a few staples besides."

Wily wandered into the kitchen and started to unload the bag. "After all, we'll be heading to Vinkus's place on Hokkaido in a couple of days, so I didn't see much sense in buying fruit that'd just go bad on us."

He set out a few cans of condensed milk. Still no answer came. Wily glanced up irritably. "Tom? You here?" The scientist had been here when he left, taking a powernap in the workshop. "You still sleeping?"

Out of the kitchen and down the hall Dr. Wily went, opening the reinforced door that led to their workshop.

He found it empty, and the lights turned out. Wily's frown darkened as he turned back towards the house proper. "Thomas! Where are you?" He dashed towards Light's bedroom, and finally found the man.

Light was sitting on the end of his bed, with an old wooden box opened beside him. He was clutching a photograph in his hand, crying as he stared at it.

The gears clicked in Wily's brain. "Oh, Christ no." He muttered softly. "It's January 22nd."

Dr. Light looked up through red eyes, finally noticing Wily. "Oh, you came back."

Wily let out a long sigh and drew a hand over his face. "Tom, don't do this again."

"Today's her birthday." Light went on, as if he'd never heard his partner. "She would have been forty-two years old." He wiped at his eyes and sniffled. "Forty-two, Albert."

"You promised me you were going to stop doing this." Wily begged with him. "Come on. You're letting this eat you up. You've got to stop it! You promised!"

"I know. I know I did." Light stared back at the picture, and more tears came up. "But when I woke up from my nap, Will…I couldn't remember her face." He choked on the words and sobbed harder. "I couldn't _remember!_"

Wily shut his eyes. "It's been nearly 18 years. You've kept her memory alive all this time. Longer than the rest of us. There's no shame in not being able to see her face after two decades."

Light shrunk in on himself, fast slipping away again.

Wily walked over and sat down beside his friend. He set an arm over Light's shoulder and shook his head. "You're going to have to learn to forgive yourself one of these days, Tom. Vanessa can't do it for you." He could have taken a sharper tone, as he had in years past…but Light never responded well when he did that. Quiet and gentle it was.

Light reacted to the advice by burying his head in Wily's chest and crying even louder.

The mad scientist bit his lip and slowly patted Light on the back, putting away his own discomfort for the moment. His friend was hurting, and maybe he was getting soft in his middling years, but Wily saw no reason to do anything but console the man.

Light had never truly gotten over Vanessa's death. He likely never would. It came like a storm, predictable as the solstice and over just as fast.

Caught in the maelstrom, Light clung to the only rock left in his life.

Wily let him.

* * *

_Cape Canaveral _

_Florida, United States_

_January 30__th__, 2058 C.E._

_4:27 P.M._

A storm had descended on Mission Control, with Trenton Corbun and the brightest of the Second Rainbow's physicists and astronomers acting in cooperation with, for the first time, a unified global consortium of tech specialists in space exploration.

The buildup had been tremendous. In just over a little more than a year and a half, the Sennet Corporation's so-called "Magic Bullets" had blazed a straight course towards Jupiter, moving at over 15 kilometers a second in their mad dash to meet the Apocalyptic Epoch comet while it was still in Jupiter's pull. Only the necessary crew was allowed in Mission Control as the crucial hour of 4:32 approached…the time when the bullets were scheduled to route communications back detailing their initial approach and findings. Everyone else, press and Second Rainbow observers alike, were hoarded into a large observation hall on the second floor, replete with a thick bulletproof window looking down.

Marcel D'Whyste, forever the CNN liaison to the Second Rainbow, had found himself a seat near the massive window on the left side. It allowed him and his cameraman a wide view of Mission Control below and the audience by them. Most were somber at this event, just as Marcel allowed himself to be for the camera's sake.

It didn't surprise him in the least, however, to glance back at the rear of the room and see Dr. Light and Dr. Wily, the most unusual if not most famous members of the Second Rainbow, living up the occasion. They were calmly sucking down massive coolers of what he hoped was soda and munching away on a tub of popcorn the size of a backpack set between them, not once breaking their eyes from the massive viewscreens showing the rockets' approximate location to Jupiter, as well as Epoch's.

"Just look at them." He muttered to his cameraman. "You think they take anything seriously?"

His camera operator stopped fiddling with the zoom settings and glanced over his shoulder. The young man chuckled a bit at the sight. "Jesus, they've got balls. They're treating this like they were going to the movies."

"In a sense, they are." Marcel mused. "This is a show that the entire world will be watching. Still, you think they would see the occasion more solemnly."

"Well, boss, you can relax." His cameraman went on. "This feed, when it goes live, will be solidly pointed at Mission Control. You won't have to worry about the folks at home getting all bunched up over a couple of eccentric geniuses."

D'Whyste shook his head. "Good. If I've learned anything in my years, it's that the greatest minds of Second Rainbow are also the most peculiar ones. Highlighting them and trying to point out flaws has only ever resulted in derision and scorn."

"The moral being, people forgive quirks, but don't want you digging them up?"

"The moral being, people don't want to hear about how the men and women of the Second Rainbow spend their time beyond saving the world. Apparently, they prefer their heroes pristine."

"Oh, you think they're heroes now, huh?" Marcel's cameraman wiggled his eyebrows.

Marcel pursed his lips. "Try not to confuse my opinions with the sentiments of the masses. It'll save you grief in the long run."

His cameraman reached a hand up to his earpiece. "We've got word from the station. We'll be live in twenty."

"Good." Marcel straightened up and made sure his lapel mike was secure. "On me, then."

"You're ready." The camera's red indicator light flipped on, and Marcel's associate started ticking down his fingers.

Marcel closed his eyes, counted silently, and took in a deep breath.

_Your career was made for moments like these._

His eyes opened.

**Two. One.**

"Thank you, Bill. Ladies and gentlemen, I am at Cape Canaveral, stationed above Mission Control in the second floor observation lounge. Several notable dignitaries are on hand for the proceedings today, and security is tight. The fate of the world is at stake here today, and the men and women of NASA and the Second Rainbow want absolutely nothing to go wrong.

A year and a half ago, Sennet Robotics announced with much fanfare the creation and launch of five intrastellar rockets, designed to attach to Epoch and guide it off of its earth-destroying course. Each rocket is self-sufficient. They all carry a positronic matrix run on LightTech's ubiquitous Core Module, which makes them the most advanced space probes ever launched in mankind's history.

The plan, as you all have undoubtedly been exposed to time and again, is that these five "Magic Bullets" will connect to Epoch as it swings about Jupiter's gravity well and begins its final approach towards Earth. A primary concern in the planning stages of this mission was the effect of gravitic shear…Just as the moon pulls on the earth to make the tides, Jupiter will also pull on Epoch as it swings about. The Sennet rockets are actually taking the shear into effect. While there will be some stresses on Epoch, the five rockets will work in unison to give the massive ball of ice a smooth ride around Jupiter. Thanks to Dr. Bailey Flynn's revolutionary work on his fusion process, they will use the ice of the comet itself to power their engines on the final voyage…literally eating the comet to move it away.

Although we cannot hear what is going on inside Mission Control, we can observe and watch. I will do my best to provide as detailed an account of things as they occur."

Higher up in the lounge, Wily rolled his eyes and threw another piece of popcorn in his mouth. "The man loves to hear himself talk, doesn't he?"

Light drained the rest of his soda, earning some irritated glances from their closest fellow observers…politicians, undoubtedly. They were the only people alive who felt the need to wear flag pins on their suits. He slurped louder through the straw, smirking, and then finally set it aside. "A lot of people do. We don't have to worry about him, though."

"Just everything else." Wily agreed, and reached for more popcorn.

* * *

_Mission Control_

_4:31 P.M._

Director Gene Walworth had been in charge of NASA since 2051, when a re-allocation of resources had finally allowed the Second Rainbow to help the United States remake their famous space program. A veteran pilot, he'd overseen countless satellite captures and fixes in his pre-War missions. Most recently, he'd had his hands busy making sure that all the newest Moon missions, manned and unmanned, went off without a hitch in their search for the precious fusionable materials that were so scarce on Earth.

None of that came close to the magnitude of what they were doing today.

Director Walworth set his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat and cleared his throat. "Put up the latest image."

His bastion of technicians and experts, NASA and Second Rainbow alike, functioned as a well-oiled machine. They'd had months prior to learn each other's habits and build up their team efficiency. The calm order was met instantly with a refresh of the image on their main viewscreens…

Jupiter looming in the background, and just over the gas giant's ring of dust and debris, the Apocalyptic comet that they called Epoch. A long tail of bluish gas fanned out behind it, swirling erratically as Jupiter pulled Epoch's tail down into its maw.

"Big son of a bitch." Gene muttered under his breath. Something else that made this different than any other mission he'd been involved in was the sheer amount of distance involved; even at lightspeed, radio signals from the Bullets took more than 35 minutes to reach Earth. That, more than any other reason, was why the Bullets all carried LightTech's Core Module and the advanced A.I. that came along with it.

They were, as painful as it was for everyone at Mission Control, on their own.

"The newest data is coming in." Felman Murges glanced up from his panel. He had been put in charge of the station that recorded and reviewed the data taken on Epoch's composition. Those systems, in idle for eighteen months, had only been reactivated upon entering Jupiter's gravity well. He looked down at the screen and nodded. "The outer surface of Epoch appears to be solid ice. Water, methane, a little nitrogen, by the spectrographic analysis. The bullets are preparing their deep-ground radar arrays."

"Good." Gene nodded, filing that note away. Of course they expected Epoch to be solid ice. It was by its nature, a Kuiper Belt Object…and KBOs were ice balls, able to sustain that buildup of frozen mass due to the extreme distance away from the yellow sun at the heart of the solar system. "Are the Bullets moving into position?"

"Four are closing in. The fifth is holding back for now." Georges Shaler called out. "It's good thinking on their part."

"Yeah, the fifth can give us a wide scan view of this." Trenton Corbun folded his arms up tight. "I tell you what makes this the most difficult is that we're looking at things that happened over half an hour ago."

Gene Walworth smirked, then moved on. "Give me a Bullet update."

"Bullets are attaching. Crampons launching…crampon penetration successful." Shaler rattled off the latest. "Fusion reactors are online…feeds are powering up as we speak."

"Good." Gene breathed softly. He leaned forward a bit, watching as the video feed from Bullet 5 showed a digitally enhanced and highlighted image of the comparatively smaller bullet probes connecting around Epoch's outer axes. "Now we get to see what twenty-five billion buys."

Shaler was the next to speak up twenty seconds later. "Bullets 1 and 3 have activated their feeds. Bullets 2 and 4's fusion feeds are coming online."

"Any abnormalities?" Trenton asked, breaking Mission Control's procedural chain of command out of nervousness. Gene gave him a sidewards glance before looking over to another technician, one of his own men this time.

"Well Rick, how're the Bullets holding up?"

"No anomalies. No errors. Everything's running in the green." The NASA tech glanced up and readjusted his glasses. "These are some pretty sturdy little rockets."

"Bullets 2 and 4 just locked in the feeds. Matter converters are running at full capacity." Shaler called out.

What all of that meant, as seen by the watchful sensor package of Bullet 5, was that its four companion spacecraft had flown about the diameter of the mammoth ball of ice and locked on. Sturdy crampons had been fired from the underbelly of the rockets and burrowed in a half kilometer beneath the surface. They could have been retracted and fired again if the first volley hadn't given them a solid connection, as the Bullets would have to do later on once Epoch lost appreciable mass, but it hadn't come to that. The connections had all read as solid, and so the Bullets had activated the more flexible drill and hose that would eat away at Epoch's surface and channel the frozen water and gas to the fusion drive's "Gas tank." A quick trip through the matter converter, which was a variant of the synthesis module that Doctors Light and Wily had first tinkered with in 2055, and Dr. Flynn's patented fusion engines would burn at full power.

In the end, the connected rockets would shift Epoch's trajectory with the determination of a colony of ants pushing a boulder. It would not be immediately noticed, but even a fraction of a degree in its altered vector would be enough to see Epoch safely pushed out of its collision with Earth. Starting the burn while it was still under the effect of Jupiter would allow the Bullets a cleaner start, and allow them to take advantage of the tugging gravitic shear.

That was the plan, and so far, it was playing out beautifully.

"Give me a burn status. How're those fusion rockets holding up?" Gene barked out.

Shaler rubbed at his eyes before reading on. "Containment is in the green. All feeds are running normally. Synchro is in place. They're making one last triangulation for mass calculations…and…" He paused, then smiled, typing in a quick command. On the main viewscreen, a smaller image sent from Shaler's monitor displayed the stats on all five bullets. 1 through 4 showed fusion booster ignition. "We have a go."

Cheers erupted in the room, and Gene let it go on for half a minute before waving his hand over his head to settle them down. "This isn't over yet, people. Let's stay on track. Shaler, how's the deep scan coming? I'd like to know just how much ice we've got to burn through, and how much of Epoch is pockets of empty space."

Shaler nodded. "They're synchronizing their deep scans to form a composite image of Epoch's interior…it's taking a bit more time than usual. All we're getting now is a reminder that they're crunching the data, but I expect they'll have it done in the next minute or so."

Director Walworth nodded and waited, breaking his silence only to acknowledge other up to date reports as they came in.

A minute and a half later, he looked to Dr. Shaler again. "Well? Do we have an image yet?" He paused at the end when he saw the man frowning deeply.

Shaler shook his head. "No…not yet. The Bullets just initialized a secondary deep scan."

Gene frowned. "A secondary scan?" He glanced over to Trenton Corbun. "What gives, Corbun?"

Trenton's mind flew through the scenarios, and he quickly realized that the reason that the Flight Director and the rest of Mission Control were so on edge was because a secondary scan hadn't been practiced in their simulations. "Well…There's a couple of reasons it might be doing a second deep radar scan. One of the Bullets' penetrating radar arrays might have a glitch."

"Negative." The NASA technician called Rick spoke up with a shake of his head. "All systems are green. Diagnostics show no errors."

"Barring mechanical failure, there's only one other reason they'd be doing this." Trenton murmured uneasily. He didn't bother waiting for someone to ask the inevitable why. "The Bullets are getting a second opinion. They weren't sure the first time."

"Not sure? How can they not be sure?" Georges Shaler scoffed.

Corbun shook his head. "I wish I knew. All we can do…is wait."

Another two minutes passed with the Bullets burning on, doing exactly what they had been programmed to do; take Epoch for a ride. Finally, the smaller display on the viewscreen from Murges' station showed results.

"Data compile complete. The bullets reached consensus on Epoch's interior composition." Felman glanced over to Gene. "I'll put up a key with the image when it comes in."

"Good." Gene turned back to the screen. "This'll be our first good look at Epoch. Go ahead and use the full screen."

"Roger." Dr. Murges typed in another few quick commands. "Coming in…Okay, I'm putting it up."

A massive three-dimensional image of Epoch replaced everything else on Mission Control's main viewscreen, complete with a Color Key to identify things.

Empty space would be black. Water ice would be blue, while ice from other gases like nitrogen and methane would take hues of green.

They expected a solid mass of blues and greens, with pockets of darkness here and there.

What they saw instead resembled an abstract painting, with reds and browns and spiderweb cracks of gray thrown in, swirling with blue and green into a chaotic mess. Only the outer mile was fully ice.

"Holy mother of…" Gene breathed in sharply.

Everybody else just stared, looking to the color key for the unexpected presences.

Reds were iron and nickel deposits.

Browns were carbon…rock.

And gray was identified transition zones. Fault lines.

"It's a fucking dirty ice ball!" The NASA tech called Rick exploded.

Gene swallowed. "Issue a stand-down signal."

Trenton looked over, stunned at the announcement. "A wha…Why?"

"The situation's changed, Doctor Corbun." Gene snapped at the man. "These Bullets of yours were designed to move a more stable comet. This makes it a whole new ball game. We have to pull them back until we figure out the best way to move this ticking time bomb."

"Signal issued." Georges Shaler called out shakily. "_Madre de dios…_Eet ees too late to do any good!" He slipped back into his Castilian accent.

"Too late? What do you mean too late?" Trenton demanded. Fear leeched away at what was once unwavering confidence.

"At this distance, there's a 37 minute delay between when things happen out there and when we receive the radio signal of it occurring. Thirty-seven minutes ago, those Bullets figured out what Epoch was made of." Felman answered the man with an unusual amount of calm clarity. He glanced at his data. "And they're still continuing on as normal."

Trenton stared back at the screen, and the full weight of it hit him.

"They weren't built to handle something this…this unstable. They're just going to keep on burning, seeing that as the best solution, and…"

"The gravitic shear we were counting on to help tug at Epoch is going to do its job too well, combined with the force those rockets are putting on it." Georges continued. He shut his eyes. "It's going to rip that thing apart."

Trenton Corbun sank to his knees and looked up at the viewscreen. The image from Bullet 5 came back up, showing Epoch in the foreground of Jupiter. All he could do was stare.

Gene Walworth reached to the red phone sitting on his desk, punched in a single call button, and set the receiver to his ear.

He clenched his jaw for a moment as it connected. "We have a situation." He said.

* * *

Up above in the observation room, a murmur was slowly gaining power.

"Something's happening, ladies and gentlemen." Marcel said, with the camera still rolling beside him and looking down into Mission Control below. "Trenton Corbun, the founder of Sennet Robotics looks as though he's troubled deeply by something, and the room has taken on a definite somber cast."

"Something's wrong." Wily muttered to Light, pushing the bucket of popcorn solidly in the Santa Claus lookalike's lap.

"You think the Bullets are having technical difficulties?" Light whispered back.

"No, no. They brought up a diagnostic panel earlier. I couldn't read the letters or numbers, but the schematics came up green." Wily narrowed his eyes. "They started to react after they saw the composition of Epoch."

"What was wrong with it?"

"Hell if I know, Tom. I don't work for Sennet Robotics." Wily berated his friend.

"Maybe they found something they weren't expecting."

"Hm. Could be."

The pagers on their comms went off. The two scientists shared a surprised expression, and then noticed that others in the small audience had also been paged.

Light brought his up and read the screen.

**Priority One. Report to NASA Briefing Room Four.**

"Looks like they're calling us in." Light stood up and rested the popcorn bucket in the crook of his arm. "I guess we'll be finding out what went wrong."

Before Wily could reply, Marcel D'Whyste was on top of them, his cameraman shoving the lens into Light's face. The CNN reporter for a change, looked as though he was viewing his job as more important than simple posturing.

"Doctor Light, would you care to comment? Do you have any idea what's happening, as you've apparently been summoned?"

The white bearded man blinked for a second as Wily sidled up beside him, and glanced down through the thick transparent window to Mission Control's main viewscreen.

He looked just in time to see Epoch suddenly begin to break apart.

Face darkening, Light grabbed the cameraman by the shoulder and turned him around so he, and the camera, could see the chaos unfolding.

"Chances are good it's got something to do with that." Light growled. "If you'll excuse us, we've got work to do."

He and Wily quickly exited, followed by the other Second Rainbow members who had been watching.

For a rare time in his life, Marcel D'Whyste found himself in the midst of an unfolding tragedy, a true human drama. The moment he had waited for all his life had come at last, as the live feed to CNN showed Epoch shattering apart, turning a single large rock into a storm of murderous debris.

All he could say, quietly repeating it, was, "My God."

* * *

_Cape Canaveral_

_Briefing Room 4_

_5:27 P.M._

The assembled scientists of the Second Rainbow sat about the long Treeborg wood table, muttering quietly to themselves as they idled the waiting time away. Light's empty popcorn bucket lay on its side at the far end, having made a full rotation about earlier. The Second Rainbow, apparently, was composed of nervous eaters.

Georges Shaler checked his watch. "How much longer do they expect us to wait?" The Spaniard asked aloud. He drummed his fingers on the artificial wood and sighed. "I could be doing something inside Mission Control, but they summoned me out here."

"They probably waited until the stand-down signal reached the Bullets before putting together their status report." Felman answered quietly. "At least, that's how I would do it."

Dr. Flynn, who'd been up in the observation lounge along with Light and Wily, glanced about and shook his head. "Where's Corbun? I would have thought he'd be here by now."

"It was his spacecraft that failed in their primary objective. I'd put betting odds that he's either trying to clean up the mess…or still lost in his own private world of hurt." Wily surmised.

The door to the room opened up, and the twenty sets of eyes in the room turned towards it. A very frazzled looking Director Walworth strolled in, flatscreen laptop in hand.

"Everybody here?" Gene asked curtly. Nobody said anything, so he nodded and grabbed his seat at the end of the table. "The situation is this: The Bullets identified the interior composition of Epoch too late for it to do any good for us. While it's still a KBO, and should be nothing but an ice ball, it ended up being something closer to a slush of a dirty asteroid mixed in with outer solar system remnants."

"Unlikely, but not impossible." Murges agreed, adding to the briefing. Director Walworth glanced over, and Murges shook his head. "The bulk of the heavier elements would have been drawn into the interior of the solar system's accretion disc during planetary formation, but astronomers have never been able to completely dismiss the idea that the Kuiper Belt might have had some rocky stragglers."

"Well, we found one." Director Walworth snapped. "Or rather, it found us." He punched in a button, and a holographic projector descended from the ceiling. A rotating three-dimensional image, formed of well-ordered photons appeared over the center of the table. The lights dimmed down, and Walworth went on. "Here's the interior deep radar scan that the Bullets gave us an hour ago. As you can see, it's haphazard and chaotic in construction. Rock, metal, and water and gas ice was spread about inside with little order. To make it worse, the nature of Epoch's composition made it seismically unstable. The combination of gravitic shear from Jupiter and the Bullets acted as the fulcrum to snap its spine."

The image expanded, and steadily, the mighty comet began to fracture and break apart.

"At this time, Epoch has fragmented into close to 924 pieces. Bullet 5 has indicated that only a few of the outer pieces have been pulled away. The other four Bullets made a consensus decision to reattach to the largest section, a twenty-seven kilometer slice, and shove it out of the way. That still leaves close to 75 percent of Epoch's original mass on a collision course with Earth. And to make matters worse, the Bullets actually _increased_ Epoch's speed. They were designed to do that, but with moving it off course as well. Now, we've sped it up and aimed it at where Earth is going to be _earlier_ in its solar revolution. We've rescheduled doomsday from August 2060 to May."

"And the bullets can't handle 900 plus objects." Wily gripped at some of his remaining hair and pulled on it, just hard enough to tug a few strands out of his scalp. "Perfect. So now what?"

"Only one choice left." Director Walworth pointed at Felman Murges. "We finish SKYLIGHT and blast that meteor storm out of the sky."

All eyes turned to the Swede, who dry swallowed and finally nodded. "We'll get it working. This just really puts the pressure on us, is all."

"You're not behind schedule, are you?" Dr. Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The core of SKYLIGHT is still in the early stages of construction. The solar cannon and plasma buster array are going to take the most work, and we haven't even started assembly on the second, much less start to crunch the numbers for the targeting system." Murges exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. "The panels still need a lot of work, and we haven't started interlinking the power systems. Right now, SKYLIGHT is little more than a skeleton. It's missing the skin, the heart, the muscles, and the brains." Murges glanced around the table and read the crestfallen faces there. "We were moving on schedule for the resources allocated, but the fact is, we planned for a deadline of June, 2060."

Somebody dropped their pen, and the noise echoed around in the room.

Murges took in a deep breath, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. "This changes everything. I don't want to build this thing fast and dangerous. We want to keep any chance of a gremlin from happening, and advancing the construction by a few months is going to make that a very hard proposition."

"We'll have to make do with the time we have." Georges Shaler announced. He folded his hands together and glanced over to Dr. Flynn. "And that means all of us are going to have to commit ourselves fully to SKYLIGHT. We have two years, barely."

"Two years to prevent the end of the world." Wily sighed. "It sounded hard enough when we had five."

"Let's keep the cynicism out of this, doctor." Director Walworth reprimanded the German American. "We already have enough religious nuts saying that we're operating against Divine Edict by trying to save our hides, let's not make things worse." Walworth looked to Felman. "All right, Murges. We have to get Skylight running by April of 2060, two months ahead of schedule. What's it going to take to get it done?"

"Everything." Murges shook his head. "More workers. More number crunchers. More equipment and more supplies. I mean, _everything_ we have. Launches with raw materials on a biweekly basis, if we can swing it, to start with. And we'll need to advance our construction start dates on the weapons systems. The solar cannon needs to happen first; it won't help redirecting sunlight against those metal and mineral deposits, but we can at least burn away more of the ice mass before it gets close. After that, we're going to have to put our faith in the plasma buster that," He pointed to Light and Wily, "you two are working on. It's got the punch to do the trick."

"Just not the range." Wily reminded him with a careful shake of his head. "We've sustained a plasma toroid up to a distance of ten meters in laboratory settings, and that's a small one. Given the technology as it stands, that would equate to us being able to shoot a SKYLIGHT sized plasma bullet halfway to the Moon before the shot loses cohesion."

Wily stood up and leaned in closer to the holographic display. He pointed at the splintered storm of comet fragments. "Do we have an estimate on how much larger the diameter of this meteor swarm will be when it reaches Earth?"

"Multiply it by a factor of one and a half, at the lowest." Murges advised him.

Wily's eyes narrowed, and he looked over to Light.

Light shook his head.

"It's going to take more power and focus and size to vaporize that storm than we expected." Wily curled his mustache. "I don't like saying it, but we're going to need some help with the numbers on this one."

"You sound as though you don't approve of the idea of getting help." Director Walworth surmised.

"No, you think?" Wily scoffed bitterly. "We're only talking about increasing our knowledge of a technology that could be used for warfare. All peaceful ends aside, that's knowledge that Tom and I have tried desperately to keep out of the hands of others. Go ahead, talk to the people at U.S. Robotics. They've been trying to duplicate our work since we got started on it. Plasma weaponry is the next arms race, and the more people we bring on board, the faster you'll have idiots putting them on jets and tanks and God knows what else!"

The rant earned a knowing sympathetic nod from the whole of the Second Rainbow's members in the room, scowls from the NASA technicians with military backgrounds.

Director Walworth lived up to his oath of office by taking the middle ground. "I don't want to cause an arms race any more than you do, doctor…But the fact is, we need to get this "Buster cannon" of yours built, quicker and with increased specs. That's something you and Dr. Light can't do on your own, and that means you're going to have to play nice with the others. We don't have the luxury of good intentions and beliefs anymore. It's survival or death."

Wily closed his eyes, and his fists clenched up again. _"So war es." _He muttered in German. "_Wie gute Absichten uns führen zu ruinieren_." He opened his eyes and switched back to English. "All right, we're playing the devil's game now."

Director Walworth shut down the holographic display and stood up, letting the lights come back on.

"We've got our work cut out for us." He told them. "I'll let you get to it."

* * *

_Kriljarne Hospital_

_New Amsterdam, Netherlands_

_April 21__st__, 2058 C.E._

_1:42 P.M._

Jessica Xanthos had woken up only ten minutes earlier, and feeling nauseous, she had refused the toast that a passing nurse had offered. It was with some effort that she turned her hairless head as another knock at the door sounded. "Yes?"

Dr. Albert William Wily poked his head in. "Hey there."

Jessica smiled. "Hey there yourself. What are you doing here?"

"Well, Tom and I are in town to go over some number crunching with Felman, and I thought the least I could do was pop in and say hello." Wily came all the way into the room and produced a bouquet of flowers. "Supposedly, it's tradition to bring these when you call on a patient. I don't see the point in it myself."

"Hm." She did her best to ignore the IV in her arm and folded her hands in her lap. "Why are you really here?"

"Because I enjoy seeing you in a hospital gown?" Wily joked. She didn't smile, and he sobered up. "Look. Oliver asked me to check in on you, since he couldn't himself."

"The man still has an empire to run." Jessica admitted. "Though, I wish he was here."

"Yeah. You don't exactly look too good." Wily set the flowers down on the room's dresser, then dragged a chair over to her bedside. "I thought they only had you on chemo. What's with the prison shave?"

"The cancer spread to my bones." Jessica said. "They're throwing everything at it now, radiation therapy included."

"A damn shame." Wily sighed. "That long black hair of yours will take forever to grow back out."

"Right now, I'm more worried about whether or not I'll be able to eat again." Jessica said jokingly. "I'm throwing up Jell-O. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?"

"Sort of." Wily pursed his lips. "Look, the fact is, I'm not any good at this sort of sensitive stuff."

"So how come you came, and Dr. Light didn't?"

"Easy." Wily scratched at his chin. "I told him to stay and finish the calculations. Seeing you like this would have caused him to sink back into depression. He lost his fiancée at the very beginning of the war. It's been eating him ever since. And you, well…" Wily frowned and trailed off, realizing the territory he was stumbling into.

Jessica finished the thought, looking him straight in the eyes. "I look like I've already got one foot in the grave."

"Yeah."

"It's all right, you can say it." Jessica took in a breath and looked up to the ceiling for a moment. "Hell, it's probably true."

"I don't want it to be true." Wily replied, more forcefully than he'd intended. He softened his tone and pressed on. "Look, I've got one friend who lost out on love. Oliver needs you."

"I know." Jessica agreed. She reached a hand up and rubbed at her eyes. "I'll put up the good fight. This hasn't beaten me yet." She sank into the covers of the rolling bed and blinked out for a moment before refocusing. "So…how goes your fight?"

"The idea behind our plasma buster's pretty sound. It works on a smaller scale, but we keep running into problems trying to enlarge the size to the scale…and range…SKYLIGHT will need."

"How so?"

Wily scratched his nose. "Think of it like this. A human's a certain size. If you enlarged a person to gigantic proportions, their bones would shatter under the stress. There's a limit to how big we can get. It's the same thing here…after we pass a certain threshold, the shot keeps destabilizing. It can't hold its mass. The longest we've been able to make a shot fly is ten meters."

"In other words, you can make a bullet, but you can't power up a supershot?" Jessica asked.

"Bingo." Wily crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms with a frown. "It's flummoxing me to no end. But there's got to be some way around it."

"What makes you say that?"

"There's a way around everything." Wily insisted. "Bees fly, despite what early flight mechanics insisted on. Gyroscopes spin. Fusion's a reality. This challenge is no different. I just have to figure out the gimmick, the shortcut."

"You'll get there." Jessica promised him. "I have faith in you."

"Yes, you and everyone else." Wily looked down at the floor. "Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose."

"How exactly did a stone cold fox like you end up with Oliver Xanthos?" Wily drummed his fingers on his knee and looked up again. "I mean, someone who can shoot like you can, fight like you can, and knows as much about security as you do? Even if he did used to be a black market tycoon, it's not like there's some catalogue he picked you out of."

"Jealous?" Jessica teased him. "It was simple. I was working in my first job after College. I was on a boat at sea which capsized and sank. All the rest of the crew died, and Oliver found me half-dead and clinging to a bit of driftwood in the middle of the Aegean. He nursed me back to health, and after I found out that I'd been pronounced dead, I decided to work for him."

Wily blinked. "It's that simple?"

"Yeah."

Wily stared at her. "Jessica isn't your real name, is it?"

The tired woman shrugged. "Why would it matter?"

"Just a thought." Wily mused. "You've always carried yourself more like a soldier than a secretary. If your story's true, then I'd bet good money you weren't too keen on having people find out about you."

"We all have our secrets." Jessica said warningly. "Why try to dredge mine up?"

"I hate unsolved mysteries?" Wily shrugged. "Look. I don't mean any harm by it. You saved our lives. That's a favor I'll never be able to forget. I've just always wondered about you, was all. What did you do before?"

Jessica stared at him, and even through her pained, drugged state, Wily felt intimidated. He coughed nervously, stood up, and nodded. "I'll tell Oliver you're doing all right. He also wanted me to tell you he'd be flying in later tonight."

"Thanks." Jessica looked to the window. "For stopping by."

"Yeah, don't mention it." Wily walked to the doorway.

"Oh, and your question?" Jessica blurted out, making the man stop. Wily turned his head half around and glanced back. "I worked for the Company."

"What company?" Wily asked.

"Out of Langley." Jessica said softly.

Wily thought about it for a moment, then let his eyes go wide as he realized the implication.

_**CIA.**_

Jessica's cool green eyes stared out unwaveringly. "Now get going. You've got a world to save."

Following orders, Wily did just that.

* * *

_LightTech Industries Regional Headquarters_

_New Amsterdam_

"Try it now." Felman Murges finished the latest adjustments to the focusing array's parameters and nodded.

Standing behind a thick shield, Dr. Light activated the model buster cannon. It powered up quickly, there came the momentary pause and flash of light, and then an amorphous glob of superheated plasma streaked from the end towards the target on the far side of the testing range.

The shot collapsed and dissipated after only clearing a third of the distance.

Light tore off his welder's goggles. "Shit!"

"Easy, Tom. Easy." Felman cautioned the man. "So that variation didn't work. We'll try another."

"And the fact that that was our 423rd attempt doesn't faze you?"

"Not really." Felman smiled genially. "I've only been witness to twenty-three of them."

Light walked away from the test cannon, smiling at the small joke in spite of his irritation. "Smartass. Fine. I need a break, though."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help." Felman apologized. "I've been preoccupied."

"Yeah. You've got the busiest job of us all, at the end of the day." Light moseyed over to the back of the room, where a row of vending machines waited. He passed by the coffee dispenser and food cooler and pressed his finger on the reader of the soda machine. It clunked out a biodegradable plastic bottle of Coca-Cola, and Light quickly downed half of it.

He let out a sigh and smiled. "Some days, I miss the crisp snap you got with aluminum cans…but it does get rid of the metallic taste."

"You silly Americans." Felman chuckled. He folded his arms as Light swallowed some more. "When I was very young, glass bottles were coming back into vogue. You haven't lived until you've drank from a glass bottle, but these new ones come close. You should enjoy it, not complain."

"Well, do you want one?" Light asked him.

Murges considered it. "I really shouldn't…"

"It's a soda, not a beer. One won't kill you, despite what people try to say about the sugar."

"Well, I'm not getting any younger, I suppose."

Light punched his thumb on the reader again, and the machine clunked out another bottle. "Here ya go, then." He tossed it over to Murges, and the older gentleman fumbled it for a bit before securing it. Thankfully, it didn't spray carbon dioxide foam all over when he opened it.

"Small miracles." Murges smiled, taking a drink. "Hmm, not quite as fizzy as I'd like. There is a difference between a fountain drink and one that comes pre-bottled, my rotund friend."

"So they tell me." Light chuckled. "I guess there's a reason it always tasted better in a restaurant."

Murges swallowed his second mouthful and checked his watch. "When did you say that Dr. Wily was going to be back?"

"Well, considering he was checking up on Jessica Xanthos, and the hospital's on the other side of the city…it might be a while." Light glanced up at the wall clock. "Probably another hour, we'll see him, if he doesn't call by then."

"Hm. Good. Perhaps he'll have an idea of how to proceed. A fresh mind always helps."

"_You_ were supposed to be the fresh source of wisdom, Felman."

"Sorry to disappoint, but despite the convention that a mind diverted from its usual task finds results, I might not have been the best person to consult on building a better gun." Felman lifted the bottle to his lips and blew across the top of it, producing a pitched toot.

The sound caught Light off guard. "What are you doing?"

Felman blew again. "Bottle whistling. You've never done it?"

Light shook his head. "No…Never saw anyone else do that, either. I can whistle the normal way, though."

"Well, you're missing out then." Felman took another swig, swallowed, and blew again. The pitch deepened. "Bottle whistling used to be a favorite pastime of my father's. He was quite good at it. See, the pitch changes depending on how deep the bottle is, and how much liquid is inside of it."

"There are easier ways to modulate a pitch, you know." Light joked.

"True, but this is less expensive than rubbing your finger on the edge of a wine glass. Less dangerous, too. You cause enough vibrations, the crystal shatters."

Light blinked. "Like an opera singer able to sing high enough to break glass?"

"Same idea, yeah."

"Huh." Light scratched at his beard. "Wasn't there a bridge that got destroyed because of that idea? Galloping Gertie?"

"No, the winds made it shake and vibrate until it shook itself apart." Dr. Murges drank some more of his soda. "It's not really my area of expertise…you'd want to talk to a structural engineer…but I think it was something about the winds caused the bridge to reach the right frequency."

"Huh." Light pursed his lips. "That's kind of cool, actually."

"There's a reason armies broke step when they crossed bridges." Felman concluded with a grin. He blew across his bottle, earning the lowest tone yet.

Light started to comment again, then cut himself off. He made a strange face and seemed to mutter something to himself. Felman frowned.

"Something wrong, Doctor Light?"

"No, no…I just…Had a…" Light trailed off, then quickly turned and dashed away. "Go ahead and take a break!" He shouted out behind him.

* * *

_1 Hour Later_

Wily knocked on the door of the room that Light had disappeared into. "Hey, Tom? You in there?"

_"Yeah, come on in!" _Came the muffled reply. Wily glanced over to Dr. Murges, who glanced up from his datapadd. The elder astronomer had been reviewing the latest data from SKYLIGHT's construction crews.

"You sure you don't know what he was thinking?"

"Sadly, no." Felman shrugged. "One moment we were talking about bottle whistling, the next he goes running off back there like a lunatic."

Wily turned back around and opened the door.

The room Light had run into was a storage room for older equipment, and Wily made his way through the crowded shelves of spare parts and rustic gear before finding Light at the back, fiddling with a small scanner.

"Now what in the devil got into you?" Wily sighed.

Light looked up at him, smiled, and turned the scanner about so Wily could see the monitor. "Sing something."

Wily blinked. "What?"

"Just sing something!"

"I don't sing, Tom." Wily raised his hand to silence the man's protests. "I also don't whistle, hum, or drawl like I was at a hoedown."

"Fine, be a spoilsport. But watch this." Tom whistled a single clear note, and a flat green line running in the middle of the scanner's monitor suddenly bounced and became a series of waves.

Wily stared at it. "It's a wavelength detector. So?"

"So?" Light exclaimed. "So this means that we've found the frequency at which I whistle! The optimal frequency, even!"

"You're losing me, Tom."

"It came to me when Felman and I had a couple of Cokes." Light went on, walking past Wily and out of the storage room. He kept the scanner tucked under his arm. "Wavelength and frequency touches everything. Light from the sun has a wavelength, our voices have a wavelength, Hell, even the wind blowing through a canyon has an auditory wavelength!"

Wily looked over to Felman for explanation, and the man shrugged again. "You mind making sense? What does any of this have to do with our current problem?"

"This!" Light stepped next to the scale model buster cannon and patted the top of it. "Every time we try to fire a shot, it fizzles and dissipates after it goes for so much of a distance. We were wrong about why, Al. It's not a matter of too much power, or too little…The shot is _shaking itself to pieces._ All that plasma, roiling, burning? It's unstable. You want it unstable when it impacts, but until that point, you need it solid and running hot so it can cover the distance."

Wily twirled his mustache. "Okay…You're starting to make a little more sense now. So what's the solution, if this is what's causing it? I say if because we don't have any solid evidence that this…frequency disruption…is what's causing it."

"Then we find it." Light beamed. "By God, Will, we find it. Once we figure out the frequency that this synthesized plasma is most stable at, and what frequency it's at right now, we can do something, build something. Maybe a harmonic filter, something to make sure the shot doesn't rattle apart."

"I'd say you were giving us more work, but considering the challenge…" Wily looked skyward. "Aah, what the Hell. So much for getting drunk tonight."

"I'll start up the coffee." Light walked towards the facility's nearest kitchenette.

Murges pocketed his device. "Gentlemen, it's been fun working with you, but I really do have to get back to work on my own…"

"It's all right." Wily nodded to the man. "Thanks for keeping Thomas company while I was gone. I hope we can work together sometime."

"You have your hands full with this plasma buster of yours." Felman smiled. "Leave the solar cannon to myself and that troupe of younger go-getters I have waiting for me. Still, just one question…why coffee? You two planning on pulling an all-nighter?"

"No." Dr. Wily answered, waving goodbye. "We probably won't get any sleep in for the next three days or so."

* * *

_Jet Propulsion Laboratories (JPL)_

_San Gabriel Valley, California_

_April 23__rd__, 2058 C.E._

_10:32 A.M._

Nearly every major metropolitan area in the United States had suffered some degree of damage. Thankfully, Los Angeles hadn't been victim to the far more long-lasting biological and chemical attacks. Radiation cleanup had taken a great deal of time for the surroundings, and even with cleanup robots working nonstop to clear away the rubble too heavily irradiated for existing purifying technologies, there would still be a lingering skeletal wasteland where downtown once stood. At least for another decade, so the estimates went. Work on that had slackened off some, with the storm of Epoch's debris fast incoming. It did make a bit of sense; Why work to rebuild when cometary fragments would wipe out everything?

On the other hand, Georges Shaler thought as he reviewed the latest computer model of the SKYLIGHT blueprints…It was pretty cowardly. It didn't show much faith if they were willing to throw in the towel.

His phone went off, and picked up automatically. He'd set it to speakerphone mode beside his keyboard, so the caller's voice came up loud and clear. _"Georges, it's Bailey."_

"Dr. Flynn, yes." Georges rotated the 3-D schematic. "I was just reviewing your data. The simulations indicate that your fusion engine will only reach 25 million degrees."

_"You worried about that?"_

"No, I just thought that fusion required a somewhat higher temperature to sustain."

Dr. Flynn laughed. _"I was wondering if you'd notice that. 200 million degrees used to be the benchmark to aim for, in fusion technology's fledgling days. Thanks to refinements in the magnetic containment fields, and some data shared from Dr. Light and Wily's own plasma experiments, my team was able to lower it down to the same temperature our sun fuses hydrogen at."_

"More miracles every day." Shaler smiled. "Well, it apparently helped you out with size and shielding."

_"Give me another 10 years or so, and I'll be able to miniaturize a fusion engine enough to support mobile systems. Sort of a…well, microfusion generator, I guess you could call it."_

"Dare to dream, my friend. Always dare to dream." Shaler tapped the keyboard and brought up another screen. "In the meantime, I've been knocking some heads together with LightTech and Sennet Robotics. Micrometeoroids and space debris are already making their presence known, ruining some of the photovoltaics on the solar panels."

_"You had an idea, then?"_

"Well…" Georges began.

It was all he got out before a massive explosion ripped through the JPL compound and brought the ceiling down on top of him.

* * *

That morning, people had come and gone as they often did. There were the employees, the usual visitors, the unusual high-profile visitors, and a handful of newcomers and tourists. The Jet Propulsion Laboratory, rebuilt in a section of land that still clung tenuously to life between a natural desert and a radioactive one, maintained its role as a place of high interest, and more importantly, education. Epoch had driven everything even remotely connected to the Second Rainbow's work into high focus, and of all the places out there, the JPL was one of the most interesting.

That same reason also made it one of the most easily infiltrated locations.

The explosion in question had been set off by one quiet, middle-aged man with a warped mind. A little on the fat side, he'd made his way into the complex posing as a transfer employee from another worksite. It wasn't hard, considering that he had been a Physics student before the Wars. Harder to fake was the paper trail, electronic information, and ID badge…But then, new employees were easily replaced, and photo IDs could be, with care and caution, altered with a different photograph.

"Dustin Phillips" had checked in at the front desk at 10:31 P.M. and made small talk for exactly 107 seconds. Afterwards, he had been directed to the department he had been assigned to. 68 seconds later, he arrived at his location; the Propellant Division of JPL, which oversaw the mixing and synthesis of the complex rocket fuels that were used to lift spacecraft into orbit for the SKYLIGHT project.

24 seconds later, somebody finally got anxious enough with the man walking about with a dreamy expression on his face to go up and ask who he was. The man identified himself, but as misfortune had it, the fellow who asked his identity happened to remember the real Dustin Phillips; he'd sat in on the conference call where Dustin was hired.

At 10:34 and 48 seconds, the peaceful tranquility of the Propellant Division was shattered by a shout to summon security.

At 10:35 and 50 seconds, the man impersonating the long dead Dustin Phillips pressed a hidden trigger within his sleeve, which was wired to a series of Thermite-enhanced explosive charges wrapped around his body.

The important thing to remember about rocket fuel, is that there are several varieties, ranging from stable to highly unstable. The Thermite charges ended up being a case of overkill, as the main propellant additive being worked on that day was Hydrazine…a highly unstable compound that required very little energy to begin its exothermic reaction.

At 10:35 and 52 seconds, the initial explosion finally reached a critical point in the narrow surroundings.

At 10:35 and 53 seconds, the JPL laboratories shuddered as the secondary explosion blew a tremendous fireball in all directions and collapsed the walls and roof.

On the other side of the building, Georges Shaler's call was interrupted by a loss of power, and was followed shortly thereafter by a collapse of the building on top of him. The force of the collapse shoved him under the heavy metal table and created a pocket around him as the Castilian satellite expert was knocked unconscious.

He was one of the lucky ones.

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_April 23__rd__, 2058 C.E._

_3:22 P.M._

"God-DAMNIT!" Darwin Vinkus screamed, throwing his phone across the room hard enough to shatter it on the wall.

Paul Van Hostick sat behind his desk in his office, flinched at the display, and went for the calm approach. "I don't think we can replace phones destroyed in violent rages."

"Slag the phone, and slag you." Vinkus collapsed into his chair and rested his head in his hands. "We just got the death toll in. 126 dead, another 74 injured. That explosion took out nearly all of the JPL. All the assets we had in place there are gone."

Hostick pressed his fingertips together. "You mentioned earlier that there was suspicion of foul play?"

"Yeah." Vinkus tossed his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I've had a couple of my errand boys on site since Dr. Flynn lost connection with Georges. The Fire Marshal centered the flashpoint in the Propellant Division. There were traces of Thermite."

"Which means…"

Vinkus let out a long breath. "You really did keep your hands clean during the Wars, didn't you? Thermite's an explosive catalyst; it burns hot, fast, and hard. People use Thermite when they want to make sure something blows up. We're reviewing internal security data…what's left of it…but right now all we've got are a couple of eyewitness accounts saying that barely three minutes before the blast, a new transfer hire came in. Somebody shouted for security, and two seconds later…boom."

Hostick drew in a breath. "Suicide bomber?"

"Looks that way." Vinkus tilted his head down to stare at Hostick. "We don't know who, or why, or even how for that matter. But we're by God going to figure it out. In the meantime, I'd suggest you start circling the wagons. JPL was one of our highest profile worksites. If a nut with a bomb could get in there, other nuts can get elsewhere. Get security, troops, whatever. I don't like using military authority, but…"

"I read you." Director Hostick cut him off and shook his head. "I'll get on it." He winced and reached under his desk. "Damnit. I think I'm starting to develop an ulcer." He pulled out a bottle of antacid and popped it open. "It took me more than half a decade, but I'm finally beginning to understand why you were so eager to pass this position on to someone else. Any chance you'd take it back?"

"Paul, I'm younger than you and I look like I'm in my late 50's." Darwin remarked, lifting an eyebrow. "What do you think I'll say?"

"Never hurts to ask." Paul downed half of the bottle, and Darwin watched his adam's apple bounce from the constant swallowing. The SRHQ Director set the Antacid aside and drummed his fingers. "I'll bolster security. Just…tell me something."

"If I know it."

Paul shut his eyes. "Georges Shaler…Did he make it?"

"Depends." Darwin muttered, staring at the fragments of his phone. "They dragged him out of the rubble an hour ago. I got upset at the status report. He hasn't regained consciousness, and his vitals indicate he won't for a very long time…if ever."

"Coma?"

"Yeah."

Paul Van Hostick shut his eyes even harder. "That _Kuksugarne._"

"Yeah." Darwin got up and grabbed his coat. "That's what I hate most about suicide bombers. There's nobody to punish afterwards. With Shaler out of the mix, we're in for a world of hurt."

"We're not through yet." Director Hostick promised, pulling on newfound fire. "We don't have a choice. We have to pick up where he left off. You and I, and everyone else in the Second Rainbow's going to have to get their hands dirty. Even if we're just running numbers."

"Thought you might say that." Darwin nodded. "I'd tell you a joke about how it was getting boring around here, but…I just don't feel like it." He bid one last farewell and headed out the door.

Director Hostick sat quietly for a moment before beginning the E-Mail that would bolster security around every Second Rainbow worksite on the planet.

Nobody would be making any jokes for a very long time.

* * *

_LightTech Industries Regional HQ_

_New Amsterdam_

_April 25__th__, 2058 C.E._

_7:46 A.M._

_"…have finally obtained evidence that positively identifies the terrorist responsible for the blast at Jet Propulsion Laboratories in California. In a video taken from his home, Walter Markham…"_

Light came to with a snort. He blinked several times before realizing there was a napkin stuck to the side of his head. He pulled it off and looked around through half-opened eyelids. "Whu time is it?"

The sound of ceramic hitting the metallic counter focused his attention, and he turned his head about. Wily pulled his hand away from another cup of coffee and shrugged. "Almost eight in the morning."

Light groaned, starting to come to. "Damnit, didn't I tell you to wake me up after four hours?!" He asked, louder than he needed to. Wily stared at him, and Light sighed. "Fudge it all."

"You looked like you needed the sleep."

"I always need the sleep. It's just a question of whether or not we can afford it." Light dragged himself up. "You got a cup for me?"

Wily slid a second mug over to him. Without thinking, Light tossed it back and downed the entire thing, realizing too late the voluminous steam coming off of it. Through sheer force of will, he finished the entire cup, and then set the ceramug mug down, gasping for air.

"You all right?" Wily raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, my own fault." Light wheezed, tears in his eyes. "I'm awake now, at least." He quickly went over and poured himself a glass of cool water. Wily rolled his eyes and looked back to the TV.

_"__**…for God has SPOKEN to us! We, the unclean, the unworthy, were condemned to our deaths. We destroyed ourselves by His will, and we should have all perished. Instead, we have struggled on for years, trying to live again in defiance of His edict. God sent fire from the heavens to destroy us, and AGAIN foolish scientists and foolish governments tried to ignore their fate. Now God has given his ultimate truth, with Epoch broken apart into an unstoppable storm! We have been sentenced to death, and to disobey His wishes is human folly of the worst kind! Now, I will do what those cowards in Gehenna's End refused to. I will strike a blow against the so-called Second Rainbow's hubris. I will put a stop to it all, and when I do, I will be welcomed into hea…"**_

"What's this bullhockey?" Light grumbled.

Wily didn't look up. "A video they took from the house of the guy who blew up the JPL. Apparently he was a religious nut too extreme for that Gehenna's End movement."

Light snorted angrily. "What a waste. I'll never understand those bastards. If they're so guilty about surviving, they can just go jump off a cliff and leave the rest of us alone."

"Amen." Wily turned the TV off and took another sip of java. "Still, I don't know whether I feel safer by having a squad of U.N. troopers guarding our facility here or not. I've never liked soldiers much."

"The directive came down from Hostick. You really want to tell him to stuff his protection when Shaler's comatose?"

"I'm crazy, Tom, but I'm not _stupid._" Wily got up and walked over to their workstation. "So how much more did you get done after I crashed?" He stared down at a strange little metallic ring they'd designed to fit on the end of their buster cannon model.

"I finished it." Light explained, following after him.

Wily shook his head, having spent too many years now with Light to be amazed at the round fellow's tenacity. He could still disapprove of his even sillier sleeping habits, of course. "Some days, I wonder if you haven't resorted to caffeine pills."

"What, and risk a train wreck?" Light clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let's face it, Al. At our age, that'd be asking for a heart attack."

"For _you,_ maybe." Wily teased him. "How many egg rolls did you have last night? I lost count after the fifth one."

"You do the same thing with burritos, you know."

"Burritos don't have cabbage." Wily pointed out, wiggling his thick eyebrows. "As the smell in the bathroom could attest."

"Touché, you dink." Light picked up the ring and stared at it. It glittered with glowing diodes and sensors, almost like a doughnut with glow in the dark sprinkles. "Now come on. Let's plug this baby in and see what it does."

"You decide on a name for it?" Wily asked, walking towards the shooting range.

"Well, I thought about calling it the Krispier Kreme at first…" Light waited for Wily to give him his usual glare, then continued, "…but I settled on 'harmonic filter."

It took the two of them fifteen minutes to install, after which they both came to the conclusion that it would be a lot easier if the harmonic filter had been a standardized component to begin with. They tucked the nugget away for future reference and powered it up again.

Wily and Light stood behind the blast shield again, their tinted, protective goggles on. Wily had his thumb over the remote control's trigger.

"Cameras ready?" Wily asked.

"Rolling on your say-so." Light replied, lifting up his goggles just enough to make out the display of his handheld systems panel.

"Diagnostics?"

"Green."

"Tracking sensors and targeting sensors?"

Light smiled; though they would be destroyed, they had affixed a series of thermal and pressure sensors on the target three foot cube of cement at the far end of the range, a full twenty meters away; double the range of their best previous attempt. They would transmit their data wirelessly until the shot hit and vaporized them, providing a microsecond of vital data. "Ready."

"All right, then." Wily nodded. "Start up the cameras. This one's for posterity. The very first "buster shot" fired with a harmonic filter."

Light hit his switch, and Wily hit his.

The scale model buster cannon powered up, creating a diffident hum in the air. The mechanics behind this buster cannon worked on a far different scale. A plasma 'bullet' had a certain size, shape, and dimension. Their early experiments had shown that plasma released in such a manner preferred to take on an ovoid form, with measurements similar to that of a clenched human fist. Powerful, but in comparison to what they had to accomplish, too weak to do the job.

The "Buster cannon" was the second phase; an attempt to enlarge the plasma toroid with even more stored and focused superheated, supercharged hydrogen gas.

The hum increased to a dull whine, then picked up in frequency until it seemed to proudly wail at its coming.

Light's diagnostics display began to beep furiously at him. "The capacitors are overloading!" He shouted over the noise. "It's redlining!"

"Good enough!" Wily screamed back, and hit the switch again. The shot, which had been charging the entire span of eleven seconds and had created a blinding locus of light at the 'business end' finally released its power.

A brilliant flash and a roar of noise accompanied the smell of burning ozone and several pieces of flaming scrap metal flying in all directions. The two scientists cringed behind their blast shield as it was pelted with debris, and a different sound rang out.

Exploding dust. By the time they looked up again, the air was thick with chalky clouds, like a volcanic eruption had cast a fog of ash over them.

Light tucked his face into his shirt and breathed through the fabric to avoid choking. "Sweet buttery Jesus, what in the HELL happened?"

Slower to react, Wily coughed several times before he found a pair of facemasks and put one on. The other he handed over before wheezing, "You tell me."

"I would if I could see anything!" Light snapped his own breathing mask on and stepped around the blast wall. "Something must have gone wrong!"

Wily stood in silence as the concrete dust began to settle to the floor, and only spoke when he could finally take in the damage.

"Much the opposite." He managed to tell Dr. Light with a shaky voice. Light turned and followed to where Wily was pointing, and stared.

The target block at twenty meters down the firing range had been obliterated. The shot had also vaporized the stand it had been sitting on and a few centimeters of the floor was scorched as well. That wasn't what Wily was staring at, though.

He was looking at the gaping hole in the outer wall fifteen meters farther on, and the rubble of concrete and brick and charred insulation lying at its base.

Light's face went as white as the dust on his lab coat. _"Kusaaaa…."_

_"Scheisse." _Wily repeated the sentiment quietly. He stumbled over to the building's newfound exit and looked out into the parking lot. Thankfully, the destruction had stopped there, but all the same… "Tom, your harmonic filter more than _tripled_ the range."

"It didn't do too bad a job upping the damage, either." Light walked back over to the cannon—or what was left of it—and shook his head. "Unfortunately, I think we gave it a little too much gas."

"A Buster overload, eh?" Wily took his goggles off and rubbed the end of his dusty mustache. "Any chance we can get a better capacitor to prevent blowout?"

Light shook his head. "Not at this size. On a larger scale…yeah. Probably." He picked up the now slagged harmonic filter, which was little more than a melted ring of metal. "At least we know this thing works. Now we just have to keep it from exploding."

"Agreed." Wily smirked through his dust mask. "The way things are going, I don't think that Dr. Murges and the SKYLIGHT core team would be at all pleased if our contribution ruined their defender of the skies after a single blast."

"Probably not." Light took his own goggles off and looked around. "I'm hungry. You wanna go grab a bagel?"

"…We probably should eat. But what are we going to do about this mess?"

As if on cue, an entire league of security guards that had been sent to protect the two scientists and their laboratory flooded in through the ruined outer wall, guns drawn. After a few moments of harried shouting, they quieted down after realizing that the two scientists were very much alone, unharmed…and standing next to what seemed to be another one of their nearly trademark explosive failed experiments.

"Are you two all right?" The chief of the squad asked gruffly, stowing his pistol.

"Oh, fine, fine." Wily replied disinterestedly. "Nothing to worry about. We just had another breakthrough, is all."

Light snorted. "Bad joke, Albert."

The mad scientist smiled briefly, then resumed his calm expression. "Dr. Light and I are heading out to grab a bit of breakfast. I imagine you all will want to get that hole patched up in the wall as soon as possible."

"That depends." The chief called after them, as they walked towards the test range's regular entrance. "You firing that thing off again today?!"

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_17,423 Miles Above Earth, Far Side_

_June 5__th__, 2058 C.E._

The project heads had quibbled for a very long time on where in earth's orbit to put SKYLIGHT. Most had agreed that Low-Earth Orbit—LEO—was probably not a very good choice, considering the amount of space debris left from countless missions, satellites, and God knows what else. It would also drag on the atmosphere, requiring more frequent adjustments. High altitude was appealing for its offering of a geostationary orbit, but it would make it that much harder and more costly to ferry up supplies, equipment, materials…and workers. In the end, they'd settled on the middle ground of Medium Earth Orbit, compromising between proximity and freedom.

None of that mattered to the space capable Metool calmly floating by a section of solar panels. Its designation was RD-224; Repair and Development. Some of its active cycles, RD-224 would hover about inside his thruster-equipped Plasteel bubble and help with construction, along with all the other Metools and myriad mechanoids that had been specially designed to work in the vacuum of space. Like its fellow "Hardhats", as it had heard some of the human overseers refer to them via radiolink, RD-224 was capable of staying on the job for spans of hours at a time without need of a recharge and a RAM-refreshing stasis nap. There was always work to do, and always orders to follow. The world that RD-224 lived in was this behemoth of metal in a massive black darkness.

It hovered closer to the wing beneath it and latched onto the outstretched arm of SKYLIGHT with a claw arm from the bubble cockpit's "Foot." It was an easy enough matter afterwards to position its plasma arc welder and secure the replacement solar panels.

Even though man-made debris was not as much of an issue this high above the Earth, micrometeoroids still played a Hellish tune on the photovoltaics. Every so often, a repair crew would have to come out, detach the damaged panels for repair, and install new or repaired ones in their place. It was a tedious job, but tedium, as the human overlords could point out, was not an ailment that affected robots.

RD-224 used the other mechanical arm from its transport's Foot to hold the damaged panel and keep it from floating away. Caution in the loss of materials was a permanent order, and the Third Law made it so every action or thought that RD-224 had or did had to first clear all other directives, that one included. It turned about and radioed a pickup crew of Metools jetting about the worksite with a massive 'waste' container that it had an item for retrieval.

After that, RD-224 could have waited in silence for the garbage robots. It could have, but opted not to.

The decision violated none of its pre-existing directives, or the Laws. No humans were being harmed, it was not harming itself, and it was still keeping the solar panel from floating away. Given all that, RD-224 turned towards a very peculiar stimulus that had become a focus in what little downtime between tasks it had.

The obvious choice was to stare at the brilliant glowing sphere of light, countless millions of kilometers away. Instead, RD-224 stared at the closer, and by distance alone, larger blue and green sphere.

A human would stare down and recognize it as Earth. Recognize it as home. Might even feel that they had the sensation of hovering above it, or falling towards it.

RD-224 focused its optics on the sight and pondered what the jutting sections of brown meant, jumbling up what would otherwise be a perfect blue sphere. It wondered that question, and that alone for several seconds. For it to focus so intently on so bizarre and irrelevant a question was an abnormality, one that RD-224 should have reported.

But, since it had never been ordered to report curiosities of the blue sphere nearby in the blackness to the humans overseeing it, RD-224 merely contemplated that question with the full weight of its very brilliantly constructed 'brain.'

The garbage retrieval team arrived in silence and radioed a quick message in binary. _We are ready to receive the waste items. Disposal or repair?_

_**Repair**_, RD-224 answered in equally quick binary code. The Metool flying the storage container maneuvered the craft's pincer arms down and took the damaged solar panel away from RD-224. Without another statement, which would have been both irrelevant and unnecessary, the garbage team flew away.

RD-224 turned his optics back on the blue sphere below and pondered it for exactly 2.46 seconds more. It came to a conclusion thereafter.

This blue sphere must have been of great importance, because its human overseers often looked at it and spoke reverently, or callously. A word stood out, and as RD-224 detached from SKYLIGHT, then turned itself about to fly back towards another guided container full of repaired solar panels for its next job, the Metool conceded that the word was likely the blue sphere's designation. It would have to research it, the next time it ventured into SKYLIGHT for stasis recharge.

The designation in question, RD-224 decided…

Was _Earth._

_

* * *

  
_

_SRHQ_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_August 24__th__, 2058 C.E._

_9:40 A.M._

"You want us to _what?"_ Light repeated back dubiously.

Director Van Hostick pressed his fingertips together. "This "Buster cannon" of yours is highly experimental and volatile technology. One of you _is_ going to have to fly up to SKYLIGHT and act as a project manager while it is being installed."

"Oh, come off it." Wily scoffed. "Neither of us are in peak physical condition anymore. We're coming up on our fifties now."

"As if you ever let that stop you before?" Director Van Hostick mused with a small smile. He resumed his more serious expression. "Look, the fact is you two have earned a reputation as a pair of mad scientists with a penchant for blowing things up. There was your infamous escape in 2052, your house three years later, and most recently, your prototype cannon blew a hole in the wall of your regional facility in Northern Europe not more than three months ago."

"Good things come in threes?" Light suggested, earning a confused look from Wily. The Santa-Claus lookalike shrugged. "It's something I've heard Oliver mumble from time to time."

"The fact of the matter is, nobody is willing to work on this Buster Cannon of yours unless you two "Mad Genuises" goes up into space and makes sure that nothing goes wrong."

"Look, we can't leave." Dr. Light insisted. "There's too much work to be done back here! We're still performing our plasma toroidal experiments, not to mention we have the latest performance data from the SKYLIGHT Metool workforce to evaluate, and…"

"One of you, then." The Director insisted. "That's non-negotiable. Nobody else knows more about this plasma weapons technology as you do. And as much as you've belly-ached, Dr. Wily, I'm not about to suggest that you two train someone else up to your level of expertise. God knows you'd think they would run off to U.S. Robotics and sell your secrets as soon as time allowed."

"Well, they would." Wily snapped. "I'll have you know that even as we speak, the idiots at USR are fiddling with it. Thankfully, they haven't been able to figure out how to stabilize a toroid."

"Something you two apparently have." The Director mused. "How did you achieve that anyhow?"

"Doughnuts." Dr. Light answered with a smile. Even Wily chuckled at the joking, but obvious explanation.

The Director of the SRHQ shook his head. "All right. So who's going up?"

"Now?" Wily asked.

"No, not now. You won't be ready by the next crew launch in September. Whoever's going is going to be put through an astronaut 'crash course' by some of NASA's best remaining troupers. Launch would be in January, with work on the Buster Cannon to begin immediately after. The latest data from Dr. Murges says the core's framework will be built up enough by then for construction to start on your secondary weapon."

"Yes, I heard they got the solar cannon operational just last week." Light tugged on his beard. "How's it working so far?"

"It'll take months before any appreciable change is felt, but estimates say they'll be able to burn away another 22 percent of the remaining mass—all ice—by the time it passes Mars."

"So, again." Director Van Hostick reoriented the conversation. "Which one of you is going?"

Light and Wily looked at each other, and the rounder scientist shook his head. "I get sick going in the air. Space would be worse, I'm sure."

"Well, I guess that means I'm going." Wily sighed.

"Oh, don't act so disappointed." Light criticized his friend with a smile. "I know for a fact you love the Hell out of flying."

"You expect me to tell you that being an astronaut has been a longtime dream of mine, or some such rot?"

"I don't expect you to tell me, but I can read between the lines."

"Good." Paul rose up, effectively ending the meeting. "You'll leave for Fort Lauderdale tomorrow, Doctor Wily. Good luck."

* * *

_Hospital de Bellvitge_

_Barcelona, Catalonia (Spain)_

_September 4__th__, 2058 C.E._

_8:42 P.M._

A slowly beeping monitor at his bedside had tracked Georges Shaler's condition for months, ever since he had recovered enough to be transferred from the United States to his home country. His coma, however, had endured.

Heart rate, blood pressure, and low neurological activity had stayed constant. Nearly five months of living on an IV drip and a food tube with pasty liquid nourishment had eaten away at the Castilian's once impressive physique. He had gone from an attractive older gentleman to a more withered husk one would expect from somebody his age.

Like every night that had preceded it for countless weeks, 34 year old nurse Francesca Domaria walked into his room, picked up his chart, glanced at his monitor, and wrote down the numbers without thinking. A simple comparison to the data from the last week would have told her that something was different; namely, his mental activity had picked up. His heart rate was also slightly elevated, no longer that of someone asleep.

She set the chart back where she found it and turned to head for her other duties. It was then that something changed.

A dry, raspy voice broke the silence of the room and the steady heartbeat's beeps.

"Where am I?"

Nurse Domaria froze and turned about. Georges Shaler, his body still unmoving, cracked open an eye. He had trouble turning his head to look around. "Where am I?" He repeated, a little louder this time.

Nurse Domaria ran over to his bedside and hit the emergency call button before speaking to him. "You're at a hospital in Catalonia."

"The _Bellvitge?"_ Shaler asked, managing to crane his neck ever so slightly towards the warm voice. "Why?"

"You don't remem…" She cut herself off and shook her head. "Dr. Shaler, there was a terrible explosion. Many people were died or hurt in the building you were at. You've been in a coma now for close to five months."

Georges opened both eyes now. "Five months? _Es verdad?"_

She bit her lip and nodded. Georges exhaled weakly. _"Madre de dios. _Then it would be…" He tried to think, but struggled with the date.

"September. 2058." She explained.

Another nurse barged into the room. "What's the emergency?"

Nurse Domaria didn't bother looking back. "He is awake. Alert the doctor."

"Forget the doctor." Georges grunted, and he tried to get up. In his weakened state, he only made it four inches off his pillow before he collapsed back, panting for breath. "Get me a pen and paper."

"But…"

"_Now_, woman!" Georges shouted.

The two nurses looked at one another, and the second one took off to get the doctor. Nurse Domaria acquiesced, and dug up a paper pad and a pen from the desk at his bedside. "Here." She snapped, dropping it in his lap.

Looking down as best as he could, Dr. Shaler wrote a shaky sequence of numbers and letters…a complex mathematical formula of some kind she couldn't place.

"What's that?" She asked, after he pulled the pen back a minute later.

Georges exhaled in relief and smiled. "Something from a dream." At ease once more, he turned to look at her. "Mmm, my, you are very attractive, j'es?"

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "I've heard that before, Doctor. From many patients."

"Oh, I am sure. But if I have been in a coma for five months, this explains how I am so weak. And yet, seeing you, I am made strong again." He flashed a rakish grin at her. "Tell me, perhaps you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"I don't think you'll be out of here tomorrow night, Doctor." She let him down easily. "And besides, I don't date patients old enough to be my father."

"Hm." Georges kept his smile intact. "Then all I need to do is be released from this hospital."

"What makes you think I would want to date an older man?"

"Pity?" He posed cheerfully. In spite of herself, Nurse Domaria laughed.

"Let's get you healthy again first, then we'll see. Is there anything I can give you?"

"A sponge bath?"

She laughed again.

* * *

_Cape Canaveral, Florida_

_September 6__th__, 2058 C.E._

_1:20 P.M._

Whatever Dr. Murges was being told was incredibly good news; the man was smiling broadly on his phone.

"I see. Well, I'll be sure to let everyone know. Thank you for calling, Oliver." He clicked the phone's receiver shut and beamed to the rest of his immediate team. "It seems that Dr. Shaler has come out of his coma." This earned some cheers, which only deepened after Felman pressed on. "Also, Dr. Shaler will be reporting for duty holographically until his doctor okays him out of physical therapy…and Mr. Xanthos has informed me that he had a bit of a brainstorm while he was under."

Hiding in the back, on furlough from the beginnings of his rigorous "Astronaut training" in Fort Lauderdale, Dr. Albert Wily folded his arms and lifted a thick gray eyebrow.

"Any idea what his brainstorm was about, or are you going to keep us in suspense until we get a projector hooked up to the conference room here?"

"Supposedly, it's got something to do with materials recovery from Lower Earth Orbit. Satellite harvesting, he called it." Murges shrugged. "It's not my specialty, so I'll trust him on it. Meantime, we all have our own projects to do. Wily, how are you and Light progressing with the Buster Cannon?"

"I'm not actively involved in the process since I got dragged down here, but the latest update from Tom said that they're trying to bolster capacitor resilience." Wily smirked at SKYLIGHT's creator. "It wouldn't do to make a cannon that only fires once before overloading and blowing out."

"I see. Any problems with that capacitor fix?"

"Some." Wily gave his head a shake. "No matter how much we try, there's going to be a limit to how much power, and thus, how huge of a shot, we can sustain before we suffer cascade failure. The term we came up with for it was "Buster overload", and it's a very real threat."

"You can't overcome it?"

"Not in two years." The mad scientist scratched at the ever larger bald spot on his head. "The technology's just not there. Twenty years, _maybe_ fifteen, we'd be able to come up with something able to handle that kind of variable power load. But we're not licked yet. We'll come up with something, and Light's got plenty of people crunching the numbers for him at the SRHQ. I'm sure that somebody will find a solution to this."

"Let's hope so." Murges rumbled gravely. "In the meantime, how goes your astronaut training?"

"Oh, fine, fine." Wily smiled. "That centrifuge is a pain, but weightlessness is an absolute riot. You know, they have these big jetliners that plummet to earth and give you about thirty seconds of free-floating? It's invigorating."

"You're pretty spry for a fellow pushing towards fifty." Dr. Flynn remarked.

"I'm 45." Wily corrected the Irishman. "And I'm not so sure about that. I've got a couple of bruises which are still pretty sore. Don't worry, though. Come launch date, I'll be ready to go."

"And hopefully," Murges added poignantly, "So will your Buster cannon."

* * *

_SRHQ_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_November 16__th__, 2058 C.E._

_11:47 P.M._

In spite of being a bustling center of activity, and the home site of the world's brightest minds, The Headquarters of the Second Rainbow still had its quiet moments and places.

At midnight, the main building's cafeteria was one such place. Only a third of the lights were turned on to conserve power, which allowed Light to make his way about with relative ease, but without burning his eyesight out on fluorescents at the same time.

The cook staff put most of the food away at night, but they were understanding enough to leave out a few items, like the odd piece of fruit and a host of day old bagels and room temperature spreads. Of course, the drink machines were always running.

Dr. Light balanced a plate with a strawberry jelly-covered bagel in one hand and frowned next to the drink dispenser. His glass wavered between lemonade and iced tea.

"Normally, I'd tell you to mix the two. It's not a bad concoction." The voice of Darwin Vinkus broke Light from his reverie, and the robotics engineer looked over his shoulder. The older-looking, but younger by age diplomat and liaison smiled back at him. "Of course, given how late it is, I'd skip the tea entirely. You'd never get to sleep."

"You're underestimating my tolerance for caffeine." Light grumbled, though his glass pressed against the spigot for the lemonade as though it had always been bound for it.

"So I hear." Vinkus held up a rather massive roast beef sandwich. "You want half?"

"Where'd you get lunchmeat at this time of night?" Light pulled his glass back when it reached half-full.

"I snuck back into the cooler and took some." Vinkus waved the sandwich again tantalizingly.

Light shook his head and walked for the nearest table. "Nah, you go ahead and eat it. I'll stick to the bagel for now."

"Your loss, friend." Vinkus followed after him, and the two sat down in unison. They each took a massive bite of their midnight snack, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. Vinkus pressed the conversation first. "Couldn't sleep?"

"We're living on borrowed time, Dar." Light told his friend and confidant. "With Epoch coming closer all the time, why would I want to waste it sleeping?"

"You didn't answer my question, you know." Darwin countered. He reached for a knife and cut his partially eaten sandwich into two more manageable halves. "I consider that a yes."

Light shrugged. "It's been a weird day. I was dead on my feet at 4 this afternoon, and now I'm wide awake. It's kind of pissing me off, actually."

"_You _had a weird day?" Vinkus rolled his eyes. "I was on a conference call with the United Nations general meeting today, and for some odd reason, the Turkish representative and the Egyptian one got into a scuffle over who deserved more attention with their desalination plants."

"Desalination? Isn't that Marth Fezhim's specialty?" Light raised an eyebrow. Fezhim was Turkish, and that had likely contributed to the flareup.

"Yeah." Vinkus rubbed at his forehead. "I'm glad I'm not running this place anymore, Tom. It drives me up a wall trying to tell countries that we have a list of priorities, and their pet projects aren't on them. I explain it nicely, they get belligerent. I yell at them, they get defensive. And they always want more. Christ. I'll leave this place to Van Hostick. The United Nations is headache enough."

"Oh, I don't know." Light cheered him up. "You didn't do too bad of a job, I thought. Nothing blew up."

"No, we just had to weather the ozone crisis." Vinkus pointed to his head. "And you wonder why my hair's gray? Success or not, the world was screaming bloody murder back then. We were able to keep the Second Rainbow's brains pretty well insulated from all of that, so you wouldn't know how dicey things were for a while."

"That bad?"

"This asteroid's just the latest in a long string of disasters." Vinkus explained. "So far, we've struggled to survive a world war where nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons were used. We've had to fix an ailing ozone layer, de-irradiate vast swaths of territory, make potable water wherever we can find it, and restore food crops from a stone age state. Even with all of that, we've still only tacked on another ten million people to the global population since our census was taken, and we've still got spots of the world which won't be safe for humanity to live in for decades…Maybe even centuries."

"Yeah, but we still try. We have to live, Dar. The alternative's much worse."

"True." Darwin agreed. He brooded over his sandwich and swallowed down another bite. "That group…Gehenna's End."

"The nuts who believe that Judgment Day has come and gone, and we're all wasting our time trying to survive?"

"Yeah, them." Darwin sighed. He bit his lip for a minute and looked at Light. "Do you ever think that maybe they're right?"

Light felt his brain clunk on the suggestion. "What?"

"I mean, look at it." Darwin suggested. "Sixty percent of the population died between 2040 and 2047. Since then, at least three different sorts of ecological disasters have hedged us in. We've beaten them back, but they just kept popping up, one after the other. This asteroid's almost overkill, but I can understand the symbolism."

"I leave symbolism for the symbol-minded." Light cut in, using an old double entendre. The remark made Darwin crack a smile through his tired appearance. "I look at it like this, Vink. If God wanted to kill us, he'd use something quicker than an asteroid we detected three years ago. This isn't a judgment. It's a test."

"A test?" Vinkus smiled and took another bite of his sandwich, chewing for a bit before speaking through the meat and bread. "Y'mean, ifth we survive, we pathd the testh?"

"Yeah." Light drank some more lemonade. "It's something my father used to say when I was a kid. _God gives us challenges. He leaves it to us to succeed or fail."_

Vinkus swallowed the last bite of the first half of his sandwich. "That's a pretty good thought. Was your father a minister?"

"No." Light smiled. "He was a landscape architect."

Vinkus laughed again. "I never would have guessed that." He raised the second half of his sandwich. "To loved ones long gone, who always knew better than we did."

"And to the challenges yet ahead." Tom added to the sentiment, and lifted his glass to the toast.

* * *

_Inner Solar System_

_December 30__th__, 2058 C.E._

The storm had passed slightly above the solar system's planar axis when it passed through the asteroid field. The course steered it clear of the field of rocky debris that stood between Mars and Jupiter, and kept the Epoch Storm intact.

About 14,000 kilometers away from the main mass center of the storm, four of the Sennet "Magic Bullets" were firmly latched onto the largest section of Epoch's remains. It had taken the four, working in tandem, almost a full year to make this much progress, but it was progress well worth it. As Bullet 5 could verify, still holding position above the rest of the Epoch Storm, the largest fragment was now skewed off of its collision with Earth. Its new course would take it farther into the inner solar system, where it would eventually be picked up and drawn in by the sun. The rest, however, would not be so easily redirected.

This far in, the ice was beginning to sublimate at an increased rate. Bullet 5 gave some of the most magnificent shots of the sight, though telescopes on Earth were beginning to home in on the approaching cosmic menace. It had gained an unearthly blue and white glow about it, a long tail of gas and vapor that shimmered in the void.

Strange that the worst threat to the earth was also the most beautiful.

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_January 2__nd__, 2059 C.E._

Cosmonaut Grigori Kechmenov had celebrated New Year's with the rest of SKYLIGHT's human skeleton crew, and nobody had faulted them the celebration.

Unfortunately, the following day came as it had to, and there was no chance for rest. Sporting a slight hangover (Anything more than slight and the flight surgeon would have grounded him in the station's living quarters), "Greg" as his American and Chinese counterparts had jokingly begun to call him made his way out of the airlock in his pressurized suit. Magnetic locking clamps in his boots kept him walking along the surface of SKYLIGHT's core exterior with little difficulty.

"Guhk. I do not care what you Americans believe. Vodka was not meant for vacuum sealed drinking pouches." He muttered over the commlink.

Astronaut and engineer Jonas Anchorford chuckled back from his own place on SKYLIGHT's deck, towards the 'northern' satellite arm. _"And glass bottles weren't meant for space, believe me. Just be glad we were able to get any up here at all, Greg."_

"Da. But work goes on." Grigori stepped out a bit farther and shook his head at the sight. Spacefaring Metools, the most common robot that worked on SKYLIGHT flew about him with only momentary attention. To the Russian, they seemed almost like yellow butterflies encased in traveling glass domes. They weren't terrible to look at, seen in that light.

"I am always amazed, comrade, that these strange little Metools work and work and work without end."

_"What's the matter, Grigori? Jealous?"_

"No." The Russian lifted up his sunglare visor ever so slightly for a better view. "But I cannot help thinking what it is we are doing here. They do not need us."

_"We're here to supervise…and in case something goes wrong."_

"Do you expect something to go wrong?" The Cosmonaut pressed.

_"Nope. But the Second Rainbow likes to be prepared."_

Grigori laughed. "You silly Westerners. One hundred years ago, your country spent thousands and thousands of dollars making a pen that would write in the zero gravity of space. My country? We _used a pencil_. Such waste."

Jonas echoed his jocularity. _"Well, you've got me there. But I don't think these Metools run under the same concept. They're pretty damn efficient, and that's not saying anything about those new SU-Z models…"_

Grigori blinked, and had to take a moment to think on that particular robot. SU-Z: Spatial Uniform Zoomers. Another LightTech Industries robot, the red-chassis "Suzy" featured monocular vision and thrusters on all sides of its body. While it didn't have any ability to move equipment, the so-called "Eye bots" were perfect due to their control for observation and monitoring. A single Suzy was small enough to get into places a human couldn't. A Suzy robot had warned them of a faulty power conduit moments before they'd powered up another wing section two weeks before; if it hadn't, the damage would have taken a week and a half to repair, versus the fifteen minutes for a squadron of Metools to cut out and replace the subpar wiring.

_"Hey, you awake, Grigori? Your oxygen intermix a little low?"_

The Cosmonaut brought himself out of his trance. "Da, I am fine. Just thinking, is all."

_"You think too much. Come on out and give me a hand here on these panels. We've got to start on the rest of the core's docking bays next. Word is, we're getting some new people up here to help us out in a couple of weeks."_

"Engineers?" Grigori asked, already starting his spacewalk. "Second Rainbow?"

_"Well, Second Rainbow, all right…and I suppose you could call him an engineer…But you might know him as the most famous roboticist on Earth. Dr. Wily?"_

Grigori had heard of the man. The co-founder of LightTech Industries, a nuts and bolts man who made sense out of wild dreams. Rumor had it that more than one robot was entirely his design, though it was his partner whose name was slapped on them.

"He is coming up here?"

_"Yeah. They're going to start making that second cannon."_

"Ah, that one." Grigori rolled his eyes, and boosted out farther. A Metool in its control dome boosted alongside him, apparently headed for the same destination. "They are bringing up all those nuclear warheads from Earth, all those missiles…we are installing laser point defense grids and active radars, and they ask to make a super cannon as well. I am just glad that they are programming this station to not point backwards."

_"You and me both. The last thing we need is some idiot holding the world hostage with this weapons defense platform."_

"Da." Grigori slowed down to make a turn, and was surprised to find that the Metool was not only keeping pace with him…it seemed to also be listening in on his communicator frequency. The Russian frowned. "You, robot!"

The Metool beeped over the radio inquisitively and blinked its massive optics. Grigori pointed back. "Don't you have something else you need to work on? Report for duty at the assignments station."

The Metool beeped, turned, and flew off to follow the instruction that had been given to it. Grigori shook his head inside of his helmet, flipped down the sunglare visor, and jetted off on a compressed stream of oxygen towards his waiting astronaut comrade Jonas.

A hundred yards behind him, RD-224 went off to fulfill Grigori's order. That didn't stop him from considering Earth again.

He had been barred from accessing a datalink to any database on Earth that could have answered his question. The only one he could connect to was LightTech's monitoring station, and that did little except make periodic checks on the status of his positronics. Left without a resource, RD-224 had taken to listening in on the conversations his human overseers had with one another.

The astronaut designated "Greg" by the other human had spoken of earth with a sense of familiarity and belonging. RD-224 didn't have the faculties to detect any emotional component to any of it, but clearly, Earth was an important place to these humans. SKYLIGHT was being built to protect it, after all.

On this rare day, RD-224 had a breakthrough, and shattered a paradigm in the field of robotics.

Today, a Metool with no prior experience made a leap of faith in thinking…

And determined that the reason these humans were trying to protect Earth was because they were _from_ Earth.

And if that were true, then it stood to reason there were more humans on Earth.

**First Law: A Robot cannot harm a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.**

It was a far cry from the kind of self-awareness that countless scholars and science fiction writers had dreaded a hundred years before. The Metool designated RD-224 had merely realized the origin of its masters. The First Law took over after that.

To keep a human being…or several, if its thinking about Earth was correct…from coming to harm, SKYLIGHT must be finished.

It would be some weeks before one of the station's technical experts compiled the Metool performance data and realized that unit RD-224 was surpassing its fellow in cumulative work hours and job efficiency.

Unaware of the cause, he would record it merely as a harmless anomaly.

The breakthrough went undiscovered.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Reserve, Japan_

_January 24__th__, 2059 C.E._

_8:10 A.M._

"Good morning, good morning!" Light called out gaily, amidst the hiss of bubbling pancake batter and the smell of vanilla and sugar. "Or as everyone else in this country says it, _ohayou!_"

A fuzzy-headed Trenton Corbun made his way out of the living quarters, dressed and ready for the day, but still bleary-eyed in spite of his shower. "The only thing good about this morning is the fact that you're making breakfast, and it's usually artery-clogging good." He sat down at the already prepared table and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"True enough, that." Light hummed to himself. He plopped another stack of pancakes inside Eddie's head and nodded to the robot. "All right, Ed. That should be enough to start with. Go load up some plates."

The iconic prototype of the EDY series beeped and shut the lid on his squat cylindrical torso head. The armless robot waddled his way across the kitchen counter to a small platform with wheels and a control board on the top surface. Once aboard, Eddie maneuvered his way to the kitchen table by foot presses alone on the large buttons, leaning his body left, right, and forward to guide the gyroscopic descendant of the famed Segway scooter. Another button press lowered the platform to table level, and Eddie calmly stepped off. He gauged his aim, chirped a confirmation tone once, and flipped his lid…literally. A powerful blast of compressed air launched a stack of five pancakes into the air, reaching an apex of two and a half feet above the table, and then finally slammed to rest only slightly off center on Trenton's plate.

The owner of Sennet Robotics smiled at the sight and shook his head. "You know, Tom, I don't think I've ever seen another EDY unit with the kind of functionality that this little fellow has."

"Blame Albert for that." Light called over his shoulder, pouring more batter on the hot griddle for another stack. "Once he modified Eddie to launch cold beer cans, all bets were off. Versatility's just a matter of spending the time putting together add-ons. Eddie, and the Metools which followed him, are very adaptable little suckers." He waved his spatula in the air. "Go ahead, talk to him."

"Uh." Trenton furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the condiments. Butter and maple syrup were already out on the table, but… "Eddie, would you happen to have any blueberry syrup?"

The Fliptop chirped in the affirmative, popped his lid open again, and fired a small container of purplish goo up above the table. Trenton yelped and caught it with a quick grab, then stared wonderingly at it. "Wow. That's pretty fantastic." On reflex, he smiled and nodded to the helpful robot. "Thanks, Eddie."

His lid still open, a viewscreen on the underside flashed a message back at him. **You are welcome, Dr. Corbun. **

"Where's everyone else?" Light asked.

"Your friend Titus was just finishing getting dressed when I headed out, and…"

"Mornin, everyone!" Titus Grant, the Australian Second Rainbow member employed at LightTech marched into the kitchen and dining room, grinning wide in a rustic shirt, vest, and set of khaki shorts. He took one look over to Light and chuckled. "Pancakes again? Crikey, Thomas. You could do with a quiche every now and then."

"Ugh, quiche." Trenton made a face. "Eggs run right through me. I'll pass, thanks."

Grant shrugged and dropped into a seat. "Morning, Eddie. You got a stack all set to go for me, you little bugger?"

The little red robot bobbed its head and fired out another fivestack, aiming true for the plate in front of Titus.

"Aah, that's the ticket." Without pouring any syrup on it, Titus carved off a piece and shoved it into his mouth, letting the sugar and vanilla in the mix do the work for him. "Yeah, that's a good'n there, all right."

Corbun chuckled and took a sip of his juice. "The others coming?"

"Well, that Brazilian lout, Pellero…"

"Enrique Pell-_iero_." Light corrected him. "Don't forget the lilt."

"Right, whatever…" Titus swallowed and went on. "He's stuck on the crapper. I guess those Thai chilies did a number on his poor old digestive tract. He'll be a while yet, I imagine. And the other fellow, the Indian Samas?"

"Ren Samas, yes." Trenton nodded. "What about him?"

"Out like a bloody light." Grant speared a mighty chunk of his pancakes and shoved them in his mouth. "Ah well, moah f'me, eh? A fat lot uh good he's been, anyhow. They don't build weapons."

"And it wasn't until recently that I did, either, Titus." Light reminded his old friend. "But since Pellero is the reigning authority on the converting of nuclear waste and Samas is the go-to guy for memory alloys, the fields aren't entirely unrelated." He whistled over to Eddie, who dutifully climbed back on his wheeled card and made for the counter. "More importantly, they're gentlemen who aren't about to go off and use plasma toroid technology to start another arms race."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Corbun joked lightheartedly. Light chuckled and pointed with his flipper on afterthought.

"Yes, and that goes for Corbun, too. I have to say, Trent, I'm rather impressed at your dedication to peacetime robotics given the competition."

"Sennet Robotics had two business models to follow…LightTech and U.S. Robotics." The inventor and businessman pulled out his datapad and brought up his morning's messages. "Your company made a commitment to inventing robots to benefit humanity and preserve the world. U.S. Robotics kept in the tradition of the GAIDN series…robots for "Defense", but really with the purpose for war. Robots haven't been put to wartime use since then, so now they're even branching out into civilian models…"

"Lawbots." Light said the word distastefully. "Put a gun on them, make them without the Core Module so they can blast away anything that moves. Real smart."

"So relax." Corbun went on, scanning the third message in his inbox. "I like the robots Sennet makes, and…"

His voice trailed off. Light dropped another stack of flatcakes into Eddie's open head when the robot plopped down next to the griddle, then unplugged the old fashioned piece of cookware.

"Something wrong, mate?" Titus asked. Trenton's good cheer had vanished in a moment for a very pensive and distant stare.

Trenton Corbun calmly pressed a few buttons on his datapad and set it aside. "Just grumblings from my shareholders, is all. Fears that Sennet's doomed for bankruptcy after the Bullets' so-called failure."

"They didn't fail, though." Titus remarked. "They still managed to shove off the biggest piece. Nobody could have predicted it'd break up on ya."

Corbun chuckled weakly. "Funny how the important little details like that are meaningless when death's still headed our way." He gave his head a shake and put on a brave smile. "But that was then, and this is now. What do you say we go ahead and keep our eyes on making the best damn Buster Cannon possible?"

"I'll eat to that." Light picked up Eddie, walked over to the table, and sat the robot down next to his own plate. "All right, Eddie. Load me up with a stack!"

The robot beeped once, and fired off a single pancake onto the portly scientist's plate. His lid's monitor displayed the reasoning to Light's curious eyes.

**Given your physical dimensions and relative height to weight Body Mass Index, a limited portion will be of greater health benefit than a large one. **

Light tried to stab his fork into the pancakes waiting inside Eddie's head, but the robot slammed his lid shut before Light could put his utensil anywhere near them. The tines bounced off Eddie's head harmlessly. "Damnit, Eddie, give me a few more! That's an order!"

**I cannot comply at this time, in the interests of preventing harm to your cardiovascular system. First Law Precedence. Might I suggest the mussmelon?**

Glumly, Light used his slightly bent fork to carve off a very small piece of pancake. He intended to make it last. "This is what happens when I make a weight scale smart enough to converse with people. My own robots conspire against me to make me lose weight."

Everyone at the table got a good chuckle out of it, and Titus pushed some of his own pancakes onto Light's plate to make up for the deficit. "Relax, mate. Have some of mine."

Light speared some of Titus's pancakes and shoved them in his mouth, chewing noisily and keeping his eyes locked defiantly on Eddie. The small red robot watched him emotionlessly with his large cartoonish optics until Light swallowed.

Almost in a huff, Eddie opened his lid and launched the rest of his stored pancakes all over Light's face. The surprise attack done with, Eddie waddled off the side of the table, dropped to the floor, righted himself, and kept on marching out of the kitchen. Everybody at the table, even the pancaked Light, laughed at the sight of the robot marching off. Pellero came in right as Eddie stepped out, and looked between the table and the disappearing Eddie.

"What did I miss?"

"Oh, just a little food fight." Trenton Corbun cackled, taking another long draw of his juice.

* * *

_Cape Canaveral, Florida_

_January 26__th__, 2059 C.E._

_7:42 A.M._

The conversation he'd had with Light the night before still echoed in Dr. Wily's head as the launch crew prepared for their shot.

_"I'm telling you, Al, he was arguing with me!"_

_"Tom, that doesn't make any sense. These robots aren't smart enough to argue. Not even Eddie. And don't start with that "It's been online long enough to…"_

_"He, Al. He."_

_"For God's sakes…"_

_"Look, I'm serious. You can call other robots it, but what Eddie did with those pancakes is beyond anything I could have predicted for him! He was exerting authority. He was being belligerent."_

_"It…he…was looking out for your health. First Law Precedence."_

_"Maybe, but I have this sneaking feeling he was using it as a smokescreen…"_

_"So what are you saying, Tom? That Eddie was able to __**violate**__ one of the Rules of Robotics? That's impossible!"_

_"Not violate it, Al. He worked around it. He didn't __**want**__ to give me more pancakes, so he didn't, and found a viable reason in the Core Module protocols to support it. Don't you get it? That was Eddie's first argument. He argued the only way he could…Through the Laws."_

_"If it was an argument, it was one he lost. That's why he gave up all the rest of the pancakes afterwards. It was a moot point, seeing as you were going to stuff yourself no matter what he tried. And since he did __**try**__…through __**action**__...His thought pathways were valid by the Laws."_

_"He didn't give up those pancakes because it was a moot point. He threw them at me because he was angry. Angry, Albert! Think about it. Eddie was showing real emotion!"_

_"I've warned you about personifying robotic characteristics. I'm not buying it. Just stop worrying about it, will you? There's nothing in Eddie's actions that can't be explained through nominal Law interaction."_

After a full night's rest, however, that seed of doubt and curiosity Light had planted was finally starting to lay roots in Wily's mind. The possibilities, if Light's suspicions were correct, were astonishing…

But still, the bulk of everything Wily was railed against it as mere science fiction and wishful thinking.

Robots could not feel. Robots did not have emotions. And robots, while capable of thought, did not _think_ in human terms.

That was all it was, he repeated it to himself uneasily.

Wishful thinking.

"Dr. Wily?"

The co-founder of LightTech glanced up. One of the shuttle crewmembers was looking down at him. "We're all systems green for launch. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Wily remarked, double checking to make sure his harness was cinched in. "Are you sure that we don't need spacesuits for this?"

The crewman, a fellow in his early thirties, grinned at the question. "Not unless you were planning on doing some spacewalking before we hit orbit."

"Sorry. With all that training they put me through, I expected to be put on a rocket and launched the old fashioned way."

"Sorry, doctor. It wasn't cost effective…especially given that the explosion at the JPL knocked out the bulk of the U.N. Space Program's rocket fuel stores. Besides, the magneto-thrust catapult's the best way to put ships into orbit. Safer, too."

"Oh, yes. Safe." Wily nodded halfheartedly as the man went off to man his own station and strap himself in. He glanced over to the passenger compartment's other rider, an electrical engineer assigned from Japan to help oversee the construction of SKYLIGHT's protective ionization field. "As if launching ourselves into space at a little over eleven kilometers a second is at all safe."

The engineer shrugged. _"Hai, so desu."_

Wily lightened up at the short, but easygoing retort. "Well, if you say so. I just didn't expect to go up on a speed ramp."

A speed ramp was a very good way to describe the magneto-thrust catapult, but its informal nickname was even better; Magnetic Launcher. Wily was somewhat familiar with the technology, which held its foundations in repulsorcraft technology, and the more familiar maglev monorails.

In effect, the ramp generated a very powerful electrical charge. The ship also produced the same charge, with the same precise polarity. The ramp was divided into sections for takeoff, going from a comparatively slow pulse to more intense ones; the shuttle leapfrogged from one pulse to the next, picking up speed all along the seven kilometer stretch of track. It sloped upwards the farther along it went, steadily aiming the launch shuttle upwards.

Wily had been trained to handle the stresses of launch, but knowing what to expect and experiencing it were two different things. Going from zero to 25,000 miles per hour over a stretch of twenty-three seconds was certainly nothing to see as routine.

_"Attention, passengers. This is Captain Marcus Holloway, your pilot for today's flight aboard the shuttle _Horizon. _As we're carrying both passengers and a very large cargo complement bound for SKYLIGHT, the ride's going to be a bit bumpier to begin with. Once the Magnetic Launcher has brought us up to speed, however, things will be smooth sailing. Remember your training, and once we achieve weightlessness, vomit bags are located in the storage compartments under your seats."_

Wily rolled his eyes. "Christ, just get it over with."

_"Launching in three, two…"_

Wily braced himself and leaned back into his seat. The increases in speed would push him there anyhow.

The shuttle started down the ramp under its own power; its engines blazed and belched fire behind them to get them going from their dead stop.

Anytime, Wily knew, they would be ready for the first boost, and…

**Wham.**

In spite of all his training, the first pushing pulse caught him off guard and knocked the wind out of him. Eyes watering, he tried to draw in a breath for the next one…

**Wham!**

That did him little good. The pushes were coming faster now; stresses were easily clearing three to four G's.

**Wham. Wham.**

Wily clenched his arms and legs as he'd been taught, forcing the blood in his body to stay firmly rooted in his torso and head. If he didn't he'd risk blackout, and this would be the worst possible moment to…

**WhamwhamwhamwhamWHAM**

Wily was momentarily aware of a lurch in the shuttlecraft's position, and then suddenly he felt as though he were falling backwards. His vision grew dark off to the sides, and a sense of tunnel vision set in.

It was all just an effect of the incredible forces being exerted on him. Rapid acceleration…

A single pulse wave hadn't been feasible in the Magnetic Launcher's construction. The power required for it would have been astronomical. Using a series of more focused and varying magnetic pulse waves generated the necessary assisting thrust while still keeping the power load at a feasible and realistic…

**WHAM!!**

Wily's eyes shot open, heedless of the force and the threat of blackout.

"That's it." He grunted out in a short breath.

The sounds of rapid acceleration had ceased; they were rocketing up and out towards space at their full breakaway speed. The tension eased on his body, and Wily drew in a heavy breath of air before screaming it aloud. "That's IT!"

The woozy engineer beside him looked over weakly. _"Nani?"_ The air outside grew a deeper and deeper blue, before finally giving way to black.

Wily reached for his pocket. "I have to tell them…It's so simple, I can't believe we didn't think of it…" He flipped it out, checked the screen, and then swore. "No signal. Of course there's no signal…" He tucked it away and pressed his call switch. "Hey, whoever's flying this crate…I need to make a call to Earth. Can you set me up with a direct line?"

_"Doctor Wily?" _Another voice besides the captain's asked incredulously. _"Right now?"_

"Priority One." Wily clarified sternly. "Second Rainbow business!"

_" We haven't even cleared Earth's atmosphere yet. You're going to have to wait. We're another minute out before you can unstrap. We'll send somebody back to help you route a signal down."_

Weightlessness settled in, and Wily felt his body begin to drift away from the seat. Only his harness held him in place.

The Japanese engineer suddenly reached underneath his seat, but the move came too late. A prodigious amount of vomit came out and floated into a very distinct splatter pattern. Wily winced and held his own cookies in check with more than his fair share of smugness…

He had always been meant for flying. Now he was an astronaut, and even that didn't faze his cast iron stomach.

"One other thing." Wily told the crewman on the vox. "You'll need to send back a vacuum as well. The other traveler left you a nice little present."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Japan_

_3 hours later_

"All right, people. Listen up, because we're in a whole new ball game now!" Light stormed into the workshop, Eddie hot on his heels. Titus, Dr. Samas, and Professor Pellero perked their heads up from the monitor displaying the results of another failed Buster simulation.

"New, mate?" Titus frowned. "We're still makin' a plasma cannon, aren't we?"

"Yes, but our dear friend Albert has come up with an idea so crazy it just might work." Light picked up Eddie and set him down next to the room's holographic projector. "Eddie, hook up and display the current Buster Cannon schematics."

The red Fliptop bobbed its head, and then the projector flared to life, a tiny sensor light indicating that a wireless connection had been established. It took a few moments for the photonic projectors to kick in, but soon enough, a faint blue holographic model of SKYLIGHT hovered above the table. The others in the room came over to watch.

Light counted heads and frowned. "Hey, where did Trent go?"

"He got another message." Ren Samas shook his head. "It must have not been a good one, because he said he needed to go out for some air. A walk in the park, I think?"

"Well, the Preserve's a wonderful place to go for a walk." Light admitted. "We'll fill him in later." He pointed to the hologram, which highlighted the central core of SKYLIGHT in red and then dissolved the rest of the image for the Buster Cannon. It zoomed in once the 'screen' was clear. "As Eddie's showing us, the current model we've been following is to try and make a massive Buster Cannon, which charges up a toroid to astronomical size and strength and then fires it off. The problem is, of course, that no matter what we've tried, current capacitor technology just isn't up to snuff. Every simulation we've run, every scale model test ends up causing a blowout, or "Buster Overload" as my partner in crime coined the term."

The hologram showed the Cannon firing off a shot, then exploding into scrap. A crude mockup, but effective at getting the point across. "We've been striving to develop a more resilient storage bank, one able to hold and sustain the power required to charge up synthesized hydrogen to plasma level intensity _and_ generate an EM field large enough to contain it without collapsing. It hasn't been working, and every route we've tried so far has led to a dead end."

"And this idea that Dr. Wily came up with?" Pellero asked.

Light smiled. "Why build one very large, unstable cannon, when you can build eight smaller, more manageable ones and reconfigure the barrel to supercharge the blasts along the way?"

Eddie blinked his optics, and the hologram of the Buster Cannon altered, ever so slightly. The barrel remained unchanged, by and large, though it did gain a series of spiraling rings that pointed at the muzzle's end.

Pellero and Samas stared blankly at the new schematic. Titus stroked his chin. "Ehh, beggin' yer pardon, Tom, but that looks sorta like the rifling grooves on a thirty-aught six."

"Precisely." Light smiled. "Wily took that new Magnetic Launcher up into space, and how that works is it uses a series of smaller, variable charged 'booster' sections in the ramp to push the launching spacecraft to higher speeds. Slow at first, then it picks up. I think he's on to something with this idea. Instead of trying to supercharge one overly large toroid, we take several, and accelerate them in a focused stream before firing."

"Theoretically, it could work." Samas slowly began to see the possibilities. "Considering the decreased power over time load, we should be able to manage the hyper-charging. The problem we were running into was that we could not sustain a powerful charge for any extended period of time. If these rings are powered up in sequence, and only have to maintain their charges for a second or less, we should be able to avoid this so-called Buster Overload."

"More'n that, mate." Titus guffawed, slapping Light on the back. "Crikey, I can't believe I didn't think of it myself. Hell, I've got a hunting rifle at home that uses the same principle." He pointed at the spiraling ring sections. "Right here. Rifling in a gun makes the shot spin as it fires; keeps it going straight, and makes it go farther in the process. If I'm betting what Wily was thinking, he's killed two birds with one stone here."

"All of this is still very theoretical." Pellero pointed out, acting as the voice of reason for the small gathering. "In layman's terms, you're trying to make a rifle out of a shotgun. We haven't even run a simulation on the numbers yet."

"Then we'd better get to it." Light concluded. "Wily's already on board SKYLIGHT, and he's frozen construction of the Buster Cannon in its early stages. If we're going to change the game plan this much, he's going to need some solid proof…Both simulated and real…to keep Murges from flipping a gasket over the project delays."

Their task set, the small band, minus a sorely missed Trenton Corbun, powered up their computers and started putting in the new variables for a multi-shot Buster Cannon.

* * *

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve_

_Kazaku Memorial Park_

Treeborgs were a terrific invention; they absorbed carbon dioxide, they made oxygen, and they did all this without complaint. To anyone who strolled through a swath of Treeborgs expecting a grove that might have stood before the war, however, disappointment would be theirs for the taking. No real tree would have had a diagnostics panel in the side of the bark, or have exposed conduits where the artificial bark had been worn away by the elements. Most importantly, Treeborgs didn't smell like real trees.

Not even the realistic looking leaves. Oak leaves. In January.

Corbun sank onto a park bench and let out a long sigh. The bad news kept pouring in, and the latest had shaken him so badly that he'd had to excuse himself. The U.S. Navy had suddenly reneged on the Big Mouths contract. Two hundred units had been developed specifically for their charting and recovery program, worth a boatload. All of it…gone, in a flash. The word from his corporate flunkies was that Admiral McAllister didn't want _anything_ in his department that was robotic, especially after the Bullets' so-called failure.

"You look as though you're having a rough day." A voice, distinctly American, remarked. The startled Corbun got up to his feet just as the voice's owner rounded the hidden corner of the walking path. The man was bundled up in a thick parka and had his hands jammed into the pockets, but without a hat, Corbun knew him instantly. It paid to know ones' competition, and the President of U.S. Robotics was certainly competition.

"Steve Wilcox." Trenton narrowed his eyes. "What in blazes are you doing here?"

"Hey, can't a fella go for a walk halfway around the world in a grove of Treeborgs without getting the riot act?" Wilcox asked innocently. Corbun glared at him. "Really, I'm hurt. I come out all this way to cheer you up, and I'm getting the cold shoulder. In January, no less."

"And the fact that we're less than a mile from Dr. Light's house has nothing to do with your visit."

"Well, it might." Wilcox shrugged. He dropped the fake charmer's act and cleared his throat. "Look, everybody knows that Light, Wily, and their specially selected "Team" are working on plasma weaponry. That's a technology that certain interested parties have been trying to get their hands on for years now, ever since they showed off the Metool back in 2052."

"Plasma weaponry only as it applies to keeping the Earth safe." Corbun snapped back.

"Oh, and so now making robots to keep the peace is suddenly not keeping the earth safe?" Wilcox posed. "The fact is, a robot's more durable, does his duty without complaint, and can't be threatened by some drugged-up lunatic with a knife or a gun. They're not war machines, they're peacekeepers."

"Right." Corbun rolled his eyes. "That's why your most lucrative contracts are to the U.S. Armed Forces. Excuse me, I've got work to do." Trenton turned about and headed back in the direction of Light's cottage.

Steve's voice chased after him. "From what I've heard, there's very little work that Sennet has going on right now."

Trenton froze and turned, lifting an eyebrow incredulously. "What?"

Wilcox shrugged, and his snakelike smile returned. "You don't think I know these things? A guy like me, Trent, has a lot of friends. It pays to have friends. And right now, I'm thinking you need a friend. Because after all..." He approached Corbun again, still smiling, "…friends help each other."

"If you're trying to blackmail me, it's not going to happen." Corbun snarled. "I won't betray the trust I gave Light and Wily when they asked me to join their project team!"

"Who said anything about blackmail?" Wilcox held up his hands palms out innocently. "Did I say anything about blackmail? Noo. I was talking about helping. You know. Friends help. Your company's been drifting towards the red ever since those Bullets failed a year ago. People have lost confidence in Sennet Robotics. But I know that you're not going down without a fight. You're a go-getter. In the old world, you would've been a shark of a corporate CEO. There's nothing with you or Sennet. The rules just changed on you overnight."

Steve brought his hand up to Trenton's shoulder consolingly, and the founder of Sennet recoiled as though he'd been burned. If Wilcox was offended, he didn't show any signs of it.

"Who cares what some stuffy Two-Star thinks, huh? Those Big Mouths of yours are a very good product. The Navy needs them. And remember what I said about friends? I've got plenty in the government. People who owe me favors. I'd be willing to call in a few of them to get that sales contract of yours back on track again. Because, friends…"

"Help each other." Corbun finished lowly. "In exchange for what? Plasma technology? Something I've promised that I wouldn't share the secrets of?"

"Now, I wouldn't ask you to do _anything_ that went against your moral fiber." Steve reassured him. "A tiger can't change its spots, after all, and I wouldn't want you to try. But I believe that plasma technology can be used to help protect the earth down here, on the surface of it as well. I believe in it passionately. I'd never convince Light or Wily, and I feel bad about that: They were dealt a bum rap. I'm glad that all the guilty parties in that little conspiracy with the GAIDNs were all dealt with. No, I'm not asking you to betray their trust. I'm just asking you to be a little more open-minded. You can keep the secrets of it locked in your hands, that's fine. But I was thinking…wouldn't it be great if two of the three robotic powerhouses came together to make something truly meaningful?"

Corbun stared, and Wilcox went on, becoming more animated. "Think about it! Peacekeeping robots with the power of the sun! Able to blow holes through walls without the mess of explosives! Able to melt away steel like butter to rescue trapped people in rubble after an earthquake! And Sennet and U.S. Robotics, making them hand in hand. A cooperative effort. We can give something to the world that Light and Wily never dreamed of. They have a lack of vision." Wilcox pulled a business card out of his parka and handed it over. "Vision is something you and I have in spades. Think about it." Corbun opened his mouth to speak, and Steve cut him off. "Now, now. Don't tell me your answer today. Give it some time. Let it roll around in there. Finish SKYLIGHT. Get the thing built. Save Earth. I'm all for it. But afterwards, when the dust settles? Sennet and U.S. Robotics can work hand in hand. Just agree to it, and I can rescue that contract for you. Bring Sennet back into the light of day."

Corbun blinked twice, and posed one last question as Steve Wilcox turned and waved farewell. "Who's to say you didn't kill my contract yourself?!"

"Be serious, Trenton." Steve chided him, disappearing around the corner again. "Why would I kill a project where I have no assets of my own to build in competition?"

Face burning red with rage, Corbun ripped the business card in half and dropped it to the ground. "That snake-oiled bastard." He muttered under his breath.

His phone went off again. Corbun flipped it open and read the message.

**Stock dropped 2 points this morning over the contract news.**

"Damn." Corbun shut his eyes tight and squeezed the phone. When he opened them again, he found himself staring at the torn business card on the ground.

Hesitantly, he reached for the pieces. Stopped, then reached again.

Timidly, he tucked the pieces away in his pocket and made his own way back home.

It wasn't a betrayal to carry around a destroyed business card, after all…

Corbun shuffled back into the warm confines of the expansive house and laboratory owned by Dr. Light and Dr. Wily. Right as he was hanging his coat on the rack, a loud chorus of cheers rose up from the direction of the lab where Corbun had left them all earlier.

By the time he walked into the entryway, Dr. Light and the rest of the Buster Development Team had started slapping each other across the backs and calling for drinks.

"Did I miss something big?" Corbun asked warily.

The team looked up at him, and both Titus and Light voiced the same remark. "Corbunnn!"

"Y—Yes, that's my name…"

"To answer you, yes, we've had ourselves a breakthrough." Light tapped his PC monitor and chuckled. "Or rather, Wily did and passed it along."

Corbun's heart leapt, pushing away every other thought for exhilaration. "You've solved the Buster Overload problem?"

"Nope. We sidestepped it entirely." Light beamed like a second sun. "Come on over, you've gotta see these numbers. Of course, we still have to put together a physical scale model for testing, but everything seems to indicate that this is going to work."

"Sure." Corbun nodded, and came closer.

"I gotta tell you, Light, it's a good thing you're keeping this so hush hush." Titus applauded his friend, as Corbun began to look over the modifications of the holographic blueprints. "The way we're building it now, it's almost worse."

"Certainly." Light rolled his eyes. "The last thing I'd want to see is if that jackhole Wilcox got his hands on these. Eddie, you disconnected the house server's uplinks, right?" The robot beeped an affirmative.

Corbun must have grown pale at the remark, because he felt sick enough to merit it. The presence of the torn business card in his pants pocket was damning even now. He didn't get much time to beat himself up over it before Titus nudged his shoulder.

"Oi, you all right, mate?"

Corbun collected himself. "Yes, I'm fine. Just fine. Why?"

"Well, you didn't look too good, right then."

"It's nothing." Corbun smiled to reassure the man. "I just got a little cold during my walk, was all."

Titus nodded and let the issue drop, his momentary concern overridden with thoughts of how they would turn Wily's modifications into reality.

Corbun locked his guilt away in a box, set it in a dark corner of his heart, and turned the lights out. He had work to do, and Wilcox could take his offer and stuff it.

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_January 29__th__, 2059 C.E._

Wily waited anxiously as Dr. Murges looked over the blueprints. He may have been thousands of miles above the Earth's surface while Murges was down below, but that didn't make the tension in the air any less palpable, even over a dedicated transmission circuit.

The European astronomer and physicist rubbed at his chin and glanced towards the camera lens in his laboratory. "This doesn't quite match the original specs. How much of a build delay are we looking at?"

"Negligible." Wily quickly answered. "I just got done checking with Kechmenov, and the work force has only started work on the outer shell of the Buster Cannon. We can add the new components and refit the barrel to the new specifications without much difficulty."

Murges rubbed at his forehead and slouched back in his chair, something that Wily was beginning to miss in the zero gravity of space. "All right…What about complexity? As many shots as this thing's going to muster, doesn't that make the possibility of a breakdown more likely?"

"We're building a plasma cannon in space." Wily snorted. "It's all complex. Yes, there's more parts to work on, but the fact is, with this build, we get a plasma shotgun that focuses the spread in a concentrated cone of fire. If we lose one or two or even _half_ of the emitters, we'll still have a viable weapon during a repair cycle. Redundancy's the selling point here, Felman…That, and this is the only model that will allow us to get the Buster Cannon operational. This is the limit of current technology. This is our best shot."

Murges pursed his lips. "And you can get this thing built in time?"

"Light's sending up another shipment of Mets and Suzys to help out, but yes." Wily nodded firmly. "This cannon will be ready in time."

"And you've done testing to make sure it's viable?"

"Light and the rest of our in-house build team finished the simulations days ago. They got a scale working model to work exactly as planned just today."

"Nice of you to wait until you had proof." Dr. Murges chuckled. He sat his hands in his lap and sighed. "All right, you have a go."

Wily grinned from ear to ear. "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me yet." Murges pointed at Wily. "I'm also trusting you to keep that solar cannon operational in the meantime."

"Has it been having problems?"

"Something in the wiring, I'm not sure. It works, but every so often the beam 'flakes out.' Hell if I know what's going on. Maybe we've got gremlins in space."

"I'll take care of it. You just keep things moving down there, and finish the rest of the design elements…say, for instance, that artificial gravity module Shaler promised us?"

Murges laughed. "You know how that Spanish peacock is. I think he finished up with the "Sweeper" program. I'll make sure he gets on it. Good luck, Dr. Wily."

"Same to you, Murges."

The connection cut out, and Wily pushed himself away from the communications screen. Dressed in a black jumpsuit (Made especially for him, as the others wore his most hated color of blue), he spun about and cackled.

"Time to get busy."

* * *

_SRHQ_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_April 20__th__, 2059 C.E._

_11:58 A.M._

"Artificial gravity." Shaler scoffed. The man who was the foremost satellite expert within the Second Rainbow now found himself tinkering with a circuit board on a standing metallic wall, and Dr. Thomas Light calmly watched the Castilian work. "I must have been crazy to suggest it."

"We're all crazy." Light answered, taking a drink from his coffee mug. "I'm just surprised that the idea came to you. Hell, I'm sure that more than a few of our 3rd Division counterparts are intensely jealous right now."

"Doctor Light, one cannot blame the muse of inspiration for striking whenever and whoever she sees fit." Georges pulled his soldering bit away from the board, and a faint whiff of ozone drifted to Light's nose. "Still, I should have known better. As quickly as I moved to record the equations when I came out of my coma, I lost so many details." He slipped the soldering iron back into its wire loop sheath and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Trying to find the missing pieces is like putting in the last piece of a puzzle when it is mixed in with another."

"Hang on." Light raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had the idea for your satellite "Harvesters" in your coma."

"What, a man cannot have two thoughts at the same time now?" Shaler checked the diagnostics panel on the board one last time, then slipped the covering tile back over the slot. "The Sweepers was an easy idea. I know enough about orbital patterns and the LEO debris field that I could have done it in my sleep…Which I did. No, the formula which should make artificial gravity both a reality and an affordable one is far more difficult. It is more than erecting a repulsive electromagnetic field. If this works, I will have warped spacetime itself in a limited region…nullified all other sources of gravity, making it possible for me to walk right up this wall." He tapped the standing barrier with his knuckles for good measure.

"Sounds good. And if it doesn't work?"

"Well, it will either do nothing, as it did the first ten times, short itself out, which was the last seven times…or it will leave a permanent scar in the fabric of spacetime in this region and eventually destroy the earth through unstable tidal shear."

Light blinked for a moment, then shook it off. "Scientists said that nuclear weapons would ignite the atmosphere and leave the world a charred husk."

"Considering what radioactive fallout did to the ozone layer, I am inclined to think that the doomsayers were wise beyond their years." Georges stepped back and gave Light a quick nod. "Well, I am as ready as I will ever be. Are you ready for the next test?"

"I just came for a visit."

"Well, for the 18th trial, you are my official witness."

"If you say so." Light smiled. "So what do you need me to do?"

Shaler tossed him a remote. "Power it up when I tell you to, and be ready to power it down if the thing starts to spark and smoke again." Shaler got closer to the wall and took one last glance at it. "Electromagnets look good. Okay."

"Okay." Light repeated, hitting the button. Shaler whirled about, stunned.

"Wait!" The cry came too late to do him any good, and the wall's mechanics began to hum. Around the wall, a synthesized gravitational boundary took hold, the 'dip' in spacetime that had been Shaler's greatest idea. Less than a second after Shaler shouted his warning, the wall drew him in with the same level of gravity as the Earth itself.

It was like falling against the floor. Light winced as Shaler whipped his head to the side just in time to avoid the worst of a good smushing. "Oh, geez! Georges, you all right?"

The Spanish scientist pushed himself off of the surface and got to his feet. "I feel like a fly that just got a little squashed, but…yes, I'm fine." He gave his head a shake and dusted himself off. "My goodness, that thing didn't take long to kick in." Shaler looked over to Light and frowned; the American was standing up sideways. "Thomas, why are you jumbled up?"

Dr. Light smiled and pointed back at him. "I'm not jumbled up. You're standing on the wall."

Shaler took a look down and realized that he was indeed parallel to the surface of the Earth, standing on the wall panel as if it was solid ground. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled. "So I am. Now the people aboard SKYLIGHT will be particularly pleased."

At that moment, all the power in the room fluctuated, and the lights snapped off. In the darkness, Light heard Shaler cry out, and then let out an _oomph_ as he hit the floor straight on his back.

Light blinked. "Georges? You all right?"

"New plan." Shaler called back weakly. "We need to work on the power drain."

* * *

_CNN News Brief _

_June 18__th__, 2059 C.E._

**Attn: Broadcast HQ**

**From: Marcel D'Whyste, SRHQ On-Site Reporter**

**Subject: SKYLIGHT Progress**

_Dr. Shaler has finished work on his breakthrough "artificial gravity" technology. Though he refused to provide any specific details, research on the next major Canaveral transport launch indicates that the necessary modules, as well as construction blueprints for SKYLIGHT's work crews, will likely be airborne within two weeks' time. The possibilities for this technology are something out of science fiction…Though, most things the Second Rainbow comes up with have been science fiction made real._

_SKYLIGHT has been dominating the workloads of everybody at SRHQ. Even Dr. Yuri Cossack, a chemist whose work has been spent cleaning up biochemical weapons residue in areas of light pollution has been involved. The level of cooperation I've seen at work here is absolutely phenomenal. The saying used to be, "Those that can't do, teach." It's not the case here. Those who don't have the expertise to be directly involved in SKYLIGHT's construction spend a part of their day double and triple checking numbers; Altitude and navigational commands, programming code for the station's operations and targeting array, and even something as simple as making sure that the recycling equipment's working. There's plenty of equations, mathematics, schematics, and power loads to review. Dr. Flynn is especially driven. He keeps a program constantly monitoring the power fluctuations from the station's solar circuits and the fusion engines. The solar circuits are good for running the bulk of the station's retro technology; navigation, communications, and the like. But everything new that the Rainbow's come up with…_

_The solar cannon, the "Buster Cannon," the matter synthesis modules…_

_All of that absolutely demands a strong source of energy. Fusion is the best available. _

_Speaking of the Buster Cannon, even though Dr. Wily is above SKYLIGHT and thus, unavailable for comment, I managed to corner Light. Anybody in LightTech's so-called "Inner Circle" is tough to hear from, but Light remains the most visible member of the team constructing the plasma weapon that will keep Earth safe. Supposedly. They've been doing everything possible to keep the plans from falling out of their hands, so much so that I've even heard a rumor that Director Van Hostick got on Light's case for keeping back vital information. What I was able to glean from Light before he got away from me was that they're very close to being done with the groundwork. Official press releases I've received have already announced that they began construction on the core weapon._

_SKYLIGHT is built like a veritable fortress in space. It bristles with power and technology. Lasers, missiles, magnetic railguns, and more bizarre and frightening weapons, the likes of which we've never seen before…perhaps we will never see again. All of it is for naught if this plasma cannon doesn't work._

_It's being installed in the heart of SKYLIGHT; The Core, as it were. The station resembles a flower in bloom, almost; solar panels outstretched or drawn in, like petals reaching for the light. This flower is the deadliest weapon ever made by the hands of man._

_I thank God above that SKYLIGHT has an auto-shutdown code hardwired into the navigational controls. Its face, the mighty twin cannons of solar radiation and plasma, will never point at Earth._

_Here on Earth, extremist cults continue to cry out that humanity is doomed, that what comes our way is a mandate from heaven, the final judgment for our sins. _

_Among us, the best and brightest press on with everything they have to make sure that the Epoch Storm doesn't cause it._

_And above us, SKYLIGHT slowly comes to life. A silent guardian, forever watching the stars._

_

* * *

  
_

_Inner Solar System_

_July 21__st__, 2059 C.E._

Mars was a quarter of its revolution away from Epoch's remnants when the meteor storm blazed across its orbital track. Were anyone on Mars, it could be only a slightly glowing dot, blue and green and faint in the Martian night sky, with a hint of a tail following behind it. A telescope would reveal that the unique comet storm was flying towards a similarly hued pale blue dot, a speck in the universe of small to nil notice, save for one important detail:

That pale blue dot was home to a species struggling to climb back up on its feet. That pale blue dot was a planet where life was once sustainable, and could be again. The Epoch storm took little notice, and flew on as gravity and velocity demanded.

Its date with Earth was now ten months away.


	15. The Last Chair

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Fourteen: The Last Chair**

"_If people reach perfection, they vanish, you know." –King Arthur, __The Ill Made Knight_

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_July 25__th__, 2059 C.E._

A transport flotilla, filled to the brim with old and long decayed communications satellites, worn out solar panels, frozen human waste, and even a few screws, flew up into SKYLIGHT's materials processing center. It was one of the newer facilities on the dorsal side of SKYLIGHT's core, and was fed a direct power line from the station's fusion generators.

A simple, but sad fact of things was that the Rainbow could not launch all the raw materials needed to make SKYLIGHT on the project deadlines that had been set. Murges' "Harvesting" program had been the solution. Space transports flew down from SKYLIGHT to low earth orbit and collected bits and pieces from Earth's orbiting debris field. Relics and trash alike were plucked up and brought back to base.

The hydrogen synthesis modules which LightTech industries had made reality for their welding Metool units had seen an expansion under one simple precept: If matter, such as air and particles in the atmosphere, could be broken down into hydrogen, what was to keep the technology from then piecing the protomorphic soup of protons, neutrons, and electrons into other elemental configurations?

As the Rainbow had learned time and time again, though, any technology in its infancy suffers from tremendous cost. Freed from the Buster Project, Dr. Samas and Dr. Pellero had both taken on the enhanced synthesis project with Light and Wily's blessing, and managed to cobble together what was, for the time being, the only working "stable matter synthesis module." The stable part came in because Light and Wily had already done early experimentation with synthesizing things besides hydrogen, but anything more than one proton and electron in composition was inherently unstable, and fell apart after a minute or two. What Samas and Pellero had done was against the conventions of LightTech: _Damn the cost, we'll make it work and burn all the power we need until it does!_ As long as the SMSM was running, SKYLIGHT could not power up its other large power consuming operations. The solar cannon had been taken offline, but by then, it had done its work. The asteroid was past Mars already, and coming in hot. What could be burned away was. The rest was a storm of rock, iron, and a few gaseous scraps that had avoided destruction.

The transport flotilla, guided under the control of another Metool unit, docked up with the SMSM and dumped its load. In one side went everything it had collected thousands of miles below SKYLIGHT's orbital path.

Out the other, a few minutes later, came several thin sheets of highly refined metalloid polymer, stacked a third of a meter high, 1.5 meters wide, and 3 meters long.

RD-224, by now the most active Metool on the SKYLIGHT build crew, flew down in his pressure-regulated control pod and tapped out a command. The tiny bubble's foot snapped out its grappler claws, took hold of the synthesized material, and set a course for the other side of the station.

There, where the bulk of the work was happening, three different styles of robots flew about. "Suzys" maneuvered with tiny airjet thrusters, the six-sided monocular robots providing live camera feeds of every part of the worksite to the project overseers and controllers. Metools did the bulk of the heavy moving and lifting, which wasn't hard in the open void of space. The most detailed work was reserved for the newest LightTech mechanoid, and one that Dr. Albert Wily was immensely proud of.

Its designation was KIF: Kinesthetic Intelligent Foundryman. It came permanently equipped with a variable plasma spot welder on one arm, leaving its second free to hold a blast shield or whatever other tool it required. Its head was a permanent helmet; underneath the burst-proof metal, made of the same metal that a Metool's helmet was composed of, it was nothing but internal wiring and a positronic brain. That and its monocular eye, of course. Wily had designed its optic himself, and in homage to a particular mecha called a Zaku from a very ancient anime, the eye could slide from one side of its head to the other, depending on where the KIF wished to look. In spite of his dislike of anthropomorphizing mechanoids, Wily had found the nickname for the KIF units tolerable.

The other astronauts called them Joes.

A Suzy flew dangerously close by Wily, and the spacesuit equipped scientist let out a stream of curses. He flung his arm out at the robot, a useless gesture given how his speed of movement was reduced, and how the mechanoid easily scooted clear.

"Damned robots." Wily snapped. "Use your brains for a change!"

Grigori Kechmenov hovered over on a thruster platform. "Is there a problem,Comrade Wily?"

"Just these robots." Wily muttered. "They're useful, they don't complain, and they follow instructions, but with as many as we've got floating around, we're constantly on our toes making sure they're not falling over each other. I came up here to supervise the build of the Buster Cannon, and I'm playing babysitter for all these damned robots."

Grigori shrugged. "Old Russian saying: Be grateful that only the river is frozen."

"Tch!" Despite himself, Wily smiled at the small joke. "That's something, I suppose." He checked the backlit datapad embedded in the forearm of his spacesuit and relaxed a bit more. "We might actually have the barrel built by our new deadline, thanks to the recycling synthesis modules."

Grigori nodded. "This is good. The other systems aboard are far less complicated...Another construction team is working on the laser artillery array for smaller objects."

"You can put good money on the bet that there will be plenty of those tagging along for the ride." Wily nodded. "They finally got around to finishing the last parts of that, then?"

"Railguns were easy, Comrade Wily." The cosmonaut smiled. "Focused chemical laser arrays are another thing."

What little mirth Wily had from the earlier joke died at that. "I could care less. I don't enjoy making weapons."

"So why did you decide to make this one?" Grigori asked, waving a hand to the busy worker crews bustling over the heart of SKYLIGHT. "Is all right to make weapon as long as it protects Earth, then?"

"It's all right to make _this_ because only the people I know and trust know all the details about this project, it's been classified top secret, and only robots are working on it, besides me." Wily waved a finger at the Russian. "Robots which have all been given strict orders to never tell another living soul about what all is going into the Buster Cannon. The end result, Grigori, is that nobody will ever build another Buster Cannon ever again. It begins here and ends here, and thanks to SKYLIGHT's hardwired safety protocol, it will never be used against the planet it was built to protect."

Grigori blinked twice, then laughed a bit and floated off. "You are man who tries to think of everything."

"The devil's in the details." Wily answered back, watching Grigori float off back to his own tasks.

A Metool streaked by with another load of freshly prepared metalloid polymer sheets. Inside of its control dome, the robot turned its head towards the human and beeped something over the airwaves in curious binary.

Surprised, Wily had to take a moment to glance down to his suit's forearm datapad and cue it to translate.

_**How much longer until Earth is in danger?**_

"Ah." Wily stared at the question, some element sticking in his mind before he answered the Metool, "Ten months."

Satisfied, the Metool turned its eyes forward and flew on towards the Buster Cannon's work area.

Only after it was ten seconds out, and lost in the shuffle of Metools, Suzys and Joes did Wily realize why the question had surprised him so deeply:

Nowhere in the robots' instructions to construct SKYLIGHT's Buster Cannon had he ever mentioned _why_ they had to make it.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_July 26__th__, 2059 C.E._

_12:05 P.M._

The videophone went off in the living room, ringing in an old fashioned tone. Nobody came to answer it, and it rang again.

From the nearby kitchen, the sound of running water and a clatter of dishware preceded a boisterous shout. "Eddie, take that, would you?"

Beeping softly, the squat, cylinder shaped red mechanoid robot affectionately called Eddie waddled into the living room and made his way towards the vidphone. Dr. Light had made several additions to the house over the years to help Eddie get around from place to place, and one of those included a miniature lift next to the vidphone's stand. Eddie climbed a small set of stairs, settled onto the platform, and tapped a toggle switch with his right foot, taking him up the three feet to the vidphone.

The phone rang again, and was on its fourth ring before Eddie used his wireless uplink to connect to the vidphone and trigger the 'receive call' command.

The signal came in scrambled, encrypted by a set of very potent algorithms designed by the Second Rainbow's IT Department for secure communications. Eddie frowned, and offered an irritated squeak towards the kitchen, followed by a series of high pitched chirps and whistles.

"What's that, Eddie? Timmy's fallen down the well again?" Dr. Light joked from the next room over. When Eddie said nothing, the scientist let out a loud sigh. "All right, Eddie. I heard you the first time. The decrypt key this week is XZ4AO. You should have it in your memory banks."

Eddie nodded his cylindrical head and body, even though he didn't need to. The motion was one he'd observed both Light and Wily using as a nonverbal form of acknowledgement, and it seemed appropriate to the situation. He brought up the decryption key Light had told him to use, and ran it through the videophone. Sure enough, the transmission cleared up, and Eddie found himself blinking at the screen, looking at the image of his second Creator, Dr. Albert William Wily.

The wild, and now finally white-haired scientist stared at Eddie for a few hard seconds. _"Ah, Tom's got you answering the phone again, does he?"_

Eddie beeped in the affirmative and nodded again.

_"Well, tell him to answer his own phone. I've got to talk to him for a while."_

Eddie beeped what sounded like a query, and Wily looked away from his own viewscreen to a datapad in his hand.

_"Of course it's something important. Do you think I would spend what little break time I have away from SKYLIGHT just to shoot the breeze? Think about it!"_

Eddie's large, googly eyes spun around for a moment, and he whistled lowly with another remark.

_"…No, I am not malfunctioning. I'm just tired and confused. I need to speak to Dr. Light. Get him for me. That's an order."_

Eddie buzzed at him. _**One moment. Let me put you on hold.**_

Wily raised an eyebrow. _"On hold? Now, wait a min…"_

The screen went dark. Eddie made a few last-minute adjustments over the wireless uplink, then calmly stepped back onto the videophone's lift and lowered himself back down to the floor.

Back in the kitchen, Light grumbled and pulled his hand away from the stove. "Stupid filament…I'll buy a gas stove if this keeps up."

Eddie wandered back inside and beeped at him. Light turned away from the finally heating electric element and the pot of water on top of it all smiles again. "Who was it, Eddie?"

The red mechanoid responded by flipping his lid up and activating the viewscreen embedded in its underside. The screen fizzled for a moment, and then displayed Dr. Wily once more, floating in what could only be SKYLIGHT.

Light scooped up Eddie and beamed towards the screen. "Will! How's things up in SKYLIGHT?"

_"Oh, fine, fine."_ Wily scratched at his chin, momentarily confused. _"Did you put a vidphone in the kitchen?"_

"No, no. Eddie routed the communication through himself. I thought it made some practical sense."

_"Aha. Right."_ Wily gave his friend a knowing shake of his head. _"You do realize we've modified Eddie so much over the years that he can literally do everything except what he was originally designed for?"_

"Carry documents?" Light set Eddie down on the kitchen counter and leaned in to give the camera a better view of his face. "If we did that, there wouldn't be room for the beer. Speaking of, Eddie, shoot me a brew."

The robot beeped, and a hiss of compressed air launched a canister of chilled alcohol in a parabolic arc above Light's head. The scientist reached up and caught it easily, then popped the tab and sucked down a mouthful.

_"A bit early in the morning to be drinking, isn't it?"_

"What are you talking about, Al? It's already lunchtime here." Dr. Light argued. "Oh, wait. You forgot about the time differential, didn't you?"

_"It's not my fault they run the station on Greenwich time."_

"So, what's up?" Light chugged another mouthful, let out a small belch, and set the half-empty can of beer aside. "It'd be early morning for you right now. Couldn't sleep?"

_"Sleeping's a hard proposition in zero g. I'm used to there being a down."_

"Oh!" Light snapped his fingers. "That reminds me about something that'll make you happy, Albert. We just finished the initial run of Shaler's grav-plating, and it's going to be launched up to SKYLIGHT next week with the next supply dump. Once the techs there install it, you'll finally be able to actually sit down and drink an honest to God cup of coffee instead of that aluminum pouch crap."

_"That _is _good news." _Wily's face brightened up considerably. _"They figured out the power drain?"_

"Enough to make it work on a space station equipped with fusion reactors, but not enough otherwise." Light admitted. "It'll be a lot of years before the technology will be cost-effective enough for other settings. I'm afraid SKYLIGHT's the only place that will see an immediate benefit."

_"Well, tell Shaler it's appreciated nonetheless." _Wily told his friend. _"And to answer your remark…Yes, I am calling about something important. I've noticed some…irregularities with the robot crews up here."_

Light sat up a little straighter, forcing Eddie to tilt his body back to keep him in focus. "Is something wrong? The KIF units?"

_"No, the KIFs are working just as promised. So are the Suzys, actually. It's the Metools. Or one. Or a few. I'm not sure."_

Light frowned and pulled up a chair to the counter, sitting down. "All right…what's going on?"

_"The other day, I had a Metool float up to me and ask me how much longer it was until Earth was in danger."_

"Uh huh." Light nodded. "Go on."

_"Tom, when's the last time you ever heard a robot ask you a question? And it knew about Earth. It even used the NAME, "Earth." We never told them about Earth, Tom. Astronomical awareness is not something covered in their basic programming!"_

"Yeah?" Light folded his arms. "The Core Module and the positronic matrix of our robots allows for learning and adaptation. There's nothing saying that they can't learn other things that aren't related to their duties. Hell, take Eddie!" The robot beeped upon hearing its name, but Light forged on. "Remember what happened when we first powered him up after the Core Module reinitialization? He asked us if we were his Creators. I'd say that counts as a question."

_"Well, yes, I know that, but…" _Wily ran a hand through his hair. _"Look, Tom. It worries me a bit. I don't know why. I can't explain why. All I know is is that there's something going on here I'm not catching, and I don't have the time to look into it _and_ build the Buster Cannon. I was sort of hoping you might be able to scan the Metool activity logs, track down the models showing aberrant behavior…scan their pathways during stasis for abnormalities. You know, find out what's causing this."_

"If it'll help you get back to sleep and leave me alone to my badly cooked pasta."

_"Thanks, Tom." _Wily looked relieved, and the wired and jittery mood started to fade away. _"I'll be sure to leave an uplink open to the LightTech SKYLIGHT command and monitoring servers for you. Whenever you get around to it, all our on-site robots will be reviewable."_

"Good." Light saluted with his first two fingers. "Now get some sleep, slugger. You look like you need it."

Wily chuckled a bit, waved him off, and shut down the connection.

Eddie lowered his lid back down and stared at Light. The bearded scientist scratched at his ear for a moment, then smiled at his robotic companion.

"Well, Eddie, it would seem we have a mystery on our hands."

The sound of hissing water drew their attention back to the stove, and Light groaned and ran to it.

"Oh, come on! Now you're overheating it! You piece of…"

* * *

_Sennet Robotics American Branch HQ_

_Sao Paulo, Brazil_

_July 27__th__, 2059 C.E._

_4:52 P.M._

"Denied? How?!" Trenton Corbun was nearly livid as he glared at his videophone.

The man on the other end of the line, a loan officer from Eurovestments, Europe's largest banking consortium, offered an apologetic shrug. _"I am sorry, Mr. Corbun, but our board of directors feels that a loan to your company would be too much of a risk. The forecast for a return on investment is marginal."_

"An awfully nice way of saying you think that Sennet's going to go bankrupt." Corbun snapped. "Well, thanks for nothing." He flipped off the connection before the gentleman from Eurovestments could add a meaningless conclusion.

Corbun sank back into his chair. "Damnit." He shut his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. He'd needed that loan, and Eurovestments had been his last hope. Every American banking firm had turned him down, and he was still paying back Australia's First National from his Auto-Gardener failure. The Asian firms had avoided him like the plague on the basis of Corbun's penchant for grand failures.

Sennet Robotics was in trouble. Losing the contract with the U.S. Navy had been strike three against the already beleaguered robotics company. The Bullets had failed, he'd purposefully avoided going into the sadly lucrative military market, and then losing the Big Mouth deal had plugged the last nail in the coffin. Faith in the brand name had begun to wane, and people just weren't buying anymore.

That loan had been very much a necessity in keeping the business afloat and people employed. Sennet needed an infusion of capital to keep all its centers operational, and those centers were vital in providing high-skill jobs.

Trenton pulled himself up and leaned on his desk. "Now what?" The inventor asked the empty air. "What am I supposed to do now? Downsize? Fire people? Close things down?"

He didn't want to. He absolutely didn't. Sennet was his last great idea, and too many people counted on him. But without anyone willing to loan him money to keep the business going…

He even momentarily thought about calling up Dr. Light, or maybe Oliver Xanthos, and pestering them for money. That thought was washed away in a furious and angry backlash. No. He wasn't about to borrow money from his friends. He wouldn't stoop that low, and endanger them while he and Sennet got dragged down.

"Damnit!" He slammed a fist into his desk, jarring it hard enough that the top drawer jostled open a bit. Trenton glanced down inside wearily, and spied with a certain amount of dread, the once torn up and now taped together business card of Steve Wilcox.

The head of U.S. Robotics had offered his considerable influence in helping to keep Sennet afloat, if only Trenton would bite the bullet and share the secrets of plasma weapons technology.

He almost reached for it before he retracted his hand with a shuddering gasp and slammed the drawer shut.

Shaking, Trenton stood up and moved away from his desk. "It hasn't come to that yet." He said aloud. "It won't."

All his brave words couldn't silence the voice of doubt in his head.

_And what will you do when it does?_

* * *

_July 28__th__, 2059 C.E._

_8:24 P.M._

"Aah." Light wandered into his living room from the kitchen and settled back onto the couch. He sounded well pleased with things, and that probably had a lot to do with the bratwursts he'd had for dinner.

Eddie wandered in after him and beeped informatively. Light raised his eyes towards the ceiling for a moment and sighed. "All right, what?"

Eddie flipped his lid up and activated his monitor. _**Reminder: you promised Dr. Wily you would examine the SKYLIGHT robot workforce when you had a free moment.**_

"Christ, Eddie, I just sat down." Light complained. "What are you, my mother?"

_**That is an impossibility. Doctors Light and Wily are this unit's creator. One cannot be progeny and parent to the same person.**_

"Smarta…" Light paused. "Did you just say progeny?"

Eddie blinked at him. _**Is that an incorrect term?**_

Light thought on it for a moment. "Well…when humans use the word progeny, they mean their biological sons and daughters. You were manufactured, artificially created."

_**Understood. This unit will no longer use the word "Progeny." Please state alternative preference.**_

"Let's just stick to your name, Eddie, and avoid the pronouns." Light reached over and grabbed the laptop he kept out in the living room. "But all right. Kill the reminder and start me up some music. I'm going to get started."

Eddie activated the living room's stereo system, and Light couldn't help but smile as the music of B.B. King pepped him up. "Ah, a little blues from the king? Perfect. Just cue it down another ten decibels and I'll be right as rain."

The Fliptop beeped a confirmation, made the volume adjustment, and then wandered off for a much needed recharge and stasis cycle.

"Hm." Light powered up the laptop, waited a few moments for the operating system to load up, and then accessed the house's wireless connection.

A few more keystrokes connected him to the Second Rainbow's secure network, and with the access data Wily had left him, he was soon accessing the datalogs for the robotic workforce.

"All right then, Al. Let's just have a look-see here…"

On the surface, the command and monitoring servers that had been set up aboard SKYLIGHT for the robotic workforce were very simple. The diagnostics panel tracked every robot during their work schedules, made notes of errors and breakdowns, and scheduled repairs accordingly. All of it could be reviewed at a glance, robot by robot, with color-coded visual displays. Systems running nominally flashed green, those in need of maintenance or minor repair went yellow, and damaged sections in need of more severe work would flash red.

_Now, Albert said it was a Metool that was acting strangely. All right._ _Let's bring up the Metool displays, and…_

The visual displays for the KIF and Suzy units vanished, and the screen expanded the Metool archives. Row after row of the footed walking helmets scanned by, and several here and there showed splashes of yellow and red over them. "Stop." Light muttered, relying on his laptop's vocal pickup. The scrolling ceased halfway through its display, hovering over a patch of fifteen Metools. Yellow sections blinked in a haphazard pattern between them all. "Narrow search parameter. Only display Metools with anomalies in their central processors."

That dropped the list to zero. One moment, he was glancing at all the hundreds of Metools working aboard SKYLIGHT, and the next…nothing.

Just an empty screen, and the words **No matches found** displayed in the middle of it.

"Balls." Light made a soft sucking noise, then let out a disapproving puff of air. "All right. So much for doing this the easy way."

Wily had mentioned that he had encountered the "Malfunctioning" Metool over the construction of SKYLIGHT's core. A modified search parameter narrowed the possible malfunctioning Metools to only eighty-seven.

"A lot, but better than zero." Light tugged on the end of his beard. "So, eighty-seven. And the system doesn't recognize any anomalies."

The challenge of it only made him smile wider as he accessed the logs and set up a special command.

_**Run full positronic diagnostic for selected units during next stasis period.**_

That simple command was already coming into play; fully twelve units, already in stasis, had their diagnostic sweeps intensified.

Light leaned back against the couch and smiled at his screen. "You want to go looking for irregularities, you make a roadmap." If there truly was a unique Metool running around up in SKYLIGHT, he would know about it soon enough.

Give or take a day or so, when the rest would turn in for a much needed recharge.

Light was beginning to feel sleepy himself, and he switched the laptop over to hibernation and recharge mode. It would leech enough power over the wireless microwave uplink to keep the batteries optimal…

And be ready when he woke up.

Five minutes later, his snoring was loud enough to make Eddie pause his recharge, deactivate stasis, and glance around from his private cubbyhole in a back corner of the living room to determine the source of the noise. The red mechanoid blinked twice, let out a mildly irritating sounding beep, and went back into stasis.

That, for the robot and his Creator, was the end of a very normal day.

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_August 4__th__, 2059 C.E._

_5:22 P.M._

_"Pressure has been normalized. Opening interior airlock."_

Stuck in the pressure cabin between SKYLIGHT's exterior and the relatively spacious living quarters inside, Dr. Wily popped the seal on his spacesuit and removed the helmet.

"Nothing quite like going from recycled air to," He sniffed, then winced. "…recycled air with a hint of garlic."

The inner hatch opened up, and Wily carefully float-hopped the last few feet to the station's interior. Once inside, gravity took hold with sudden and strong force, and his boots touched down on the decking of the spacesuit storage locker.

Another one of the astronauts aboard SKYLIGHT poked his head into the locker room. "Oh, hey. You're back later than usual, Doc."

"Complications with the third magnetic accelerator coil." Dr. Wily sniffed, making his way out of his spacesuit as quickly as possible. "I couldn't go down there myself…had to trust the work to a KIF with a Suzy on backup." He threw one of his boots off and chuckled. "Thank God for this grav-plating. That Dr. Shaler's a genius."

"So they say." The astronaut shrugged. "Come on. We've got Tony cooking up dinner tonight. Spaghetti."

"I was wondering why I smelled garlic." Wily tossed off his other boot and wiggled his thermally insulated socks. "The marvels of true, one-gee artificial gravity…we get to suffer under marinara sauce so heavily spiced with garlic it could kill a vampire."

"It's better than your burritos." The astronaut wrinkled his face up. "Ground control wasn't exactly happy that the air purifiers had to pull overtime after _that_ little debacle."

"I care about results. I don't care about problems." The German-American scientist was as chipper as ever. "You go on ahead. I want to make a call before dinner."

"Got a girlfriend down on Earth?" The astronaut teased him, earning a flying boot that whizzed past his ear for his trouble. "Boyfriend?" He asked, wondering if there was a correction.

_"Out!" _Wily snapped, and the astronaut retreated. Wily set his head in his hands and let out a sigh. "Children. I'm surrounded by mindless robots and idiotic children." It was how he felt most of the time, really. As much as he loved being out here in space, flying around the world at relative breakneck speeds, there was a severe lack of good company about. The astronauts were astronauts, and there were only two other engineers aboard. Both of them, unfortunately, were weapons specialists working on bettering the vast array of laser turrets, missile banks, and their targeting systems. Hardly the sort Wily wanted to associate with.

No, when all else was wiped away, the people Wily preferred associating with were all down on Earth, working on their parts of the grand project. And right now…

_So what if he's probably in bed right now? He can wake himself up._

Wily stowed his gear into his locker and dragged out the handheld video communicator he'd been assigned on his trip up. A few button clicks set it to ringing, and Wily couldn't help but smirk.

"Wake up, Tom…"

Six rings in, the connection took. A blurry and bleary-eyed Dr. Light, eyes still shut as he lay in his bed, appeared in view. _"Yeah?"_

"Talking through Eddie again, I see."

_"Oh. Al." _Light yawned. He kept his eyes shut, but he was clearly trying to be aware of his surroundings. _"It's late. What do you want?"_

"A progress report. Have you found the Metool acting up yet?"

_"No." _Light mumbled. _"S'too hard. They're all…in the green. No problems. No errors."_

Wily's eyes narrowed. "Nothing? No fragmented caches of RAM?"

_"No."_

"No electrical defects from intrasolar particle bombardment?"

_"No."_

"No unstable memory sectors?"

_"No." _Light's nos were getting shorter and more curt.

"Well, what about…"

_"Al, all their Core Modules are functioning exactly as they're supposed to." _Light grumbled. He finally cracked one eye open and stared into the harsh glow of Eddie's viewscreen and camera. _"I don't know which one it is. I don't know what would cause it, or what's causing it. Tomorrow, I'm going to run a few more tests, but for right now…"_

"Let you sleep?"

_"If you would."_ Light rolled over. _"Night, Al."_

Wily smiled in spite of himself. "Good night, Tom." He switched off the connection and stowed the communicator into the front pocket of his SKYLIGHT jumpsuit.

It was mixed results, but Light was clearly on it…and probably pulling late nights doing so.

"Peace of mind; re-established." Wily got up and ventured out of the locker rooms, further into SKYLIGHT's living quarters.

Oddly enough, spaghetti with garlic marinara sauce was starting to sound delicious.

* * *

_LightTech Industries Main Headquarters_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_August 6__th__, 2059 C.E._

_11:52 A.M._

"You know, I really hate board of directors meetings." Light grumbled. "Why do we still have them?"

At his side marched Titus Grant, his old friend in the Second Rainbow who still served, as Light and Wily did, in a diminished capacity for the United Nation's overarcing institution. For several years now, though, Titus had been working as LightTech Industries' IT Specialist. It gave the Australian time enough to spend with his old friends if he wished to…and most times, he did. It was rare that they did because of their workloads, and that made their time all the more precious.

The aging Australian chortled and reached for his handkerchief. "It might have something to do with the fact that LightTech is still a publicly traded company, and it's too huge for two blokes to handle on their own."

"It's not _entirely_ public." Light grumbled. "Albert and I own two-thirds of the controlling interest. But you are right about LightTech being too big to handle." The bearded scientist tucked his hands into the pockets of a very uncharacteristic brown suit and strolled on out of the building's main doors. "LightTech's gotten bigger than I had ever thought it might be. I just wish that the people who I leave in charge to run it while I'm away would mind well enough alone and not come up with stupid ideas and even stupider commercials."

"Oh, come on. I thought it was a marvelous presentation." Titus put on a more serious expression. _"LightTech: At the core of everything you trust."_ The Australian cracked another smile. "It's spot on, is what it is."

"Oh, right." Light rolled his eyes. "A veiled reference to the Core Module. Of course. It doesn't take a genius to come up with a lame slogan like that."

"Naw. Just takes one to shoot it down." Titus teased him. "Look, Tom. They're onto something. You realize that right now, LightTech's positioned to have a majority control of the robotics industry? You've got all those little buggers up there all over SKYLIGHT, working to save the world, and you've got thousands more runnin' around here down on earth helping out and doing things and going places people couldn't. People trust this company, because they trust _you_. You and Wily. And as long as you're around, coming up with things to make life better, well, they'll keep buying."

"Yeah." Light finally nodded, accepting the wisdom of his friend's observations. "It's just…Well, you remember all those refugee camps that the United Nations had after the Wars?"

Titus's face darkened; Australia had been host to three such sprawling complexes, hastily erected mazes of tents and quick buildings where survivors from around the world had relocated in search of normalcy, work, and a new life. "Yeah, I remember them."

"The last one was decommissioned only three years ago." Light reminded his friend sadly. "It took us a decade before we were able to save enough of the world that people could start going back to their homes…what was left of them. The economy's still pulling itself up out of the hole. We're far from where we were twenty years ago, in terms of infrastructure and livability. That's stuck with me, Titus…that's why I get annoyed when the Board starts arguing about whether or not they've made a good commercial. We've got bigger problems to worry about"

The Australian chewed the inside of his lip. "Yeah. I can see that, I guess. But you can't solve all the world's problems. It's not like you pushed the button. Hell, it's not like any of us did. We're just stuck fixing it. And all things considered? I'd say we're doing a fine job."

Light laughed a little at that. "You know, I miss your optimism. Mine's quieter. Yours, I always feel like you've just come from a big party."

"Live big or go home." Titus echoed, picking up the pace and moving a few steps ahead of Light. "So, then. Now that we've got the boring part of the day over with, suppose I take you out to lunch…unless, of course, you were planning on running back home to that little hovel of yours in the Treeborg Preserve and slavin' away in the darkness."

"Perish the thought." Light picked up his own speed, and soon the two were moving at almost a jog towards a waiting LightTech vehicle in the circular front drive. "Al's waited this long for me to get some results…he can wait another few hours!"

"Race ya!" Titus bellowed, and the two middle-aged men bolted for the car.

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_August 7__th__, 2059 C.E._

_11:42 A.M._

Most people would look at Alaska and think that the state was covered in snow and ice year round. While for several places, this was often true, there were other regions where the climate became quite temperate for a brief month or three. This was one of the reasons that Ewan Lake had been selected for the grounds of what had once been called the CTWRC. Second Rainbow would forever be a better name than that unruly amalgam, but the name didn't change what they struggled to accomplish, or where they did it.

Summer had come to the headquarters of the Second Rainbow, and there was no clearer sign of this than the band of nearly 60 people who patrolled around the outer security fence of the SRHQ, chanting and hoisting signs.

_"We have no fear! The end is here! We have no fear! The end is here!" _Had it not been for the fence, and the stoic looking security forces from the United Nations that had been stationed by the entrance, the assembled crowd would have certainly drove inwards.

High up in the SRHQ's main complex, Site Coordinator Paul Van Hostick glanced out of his office window and gave his head a disapproving shake. "I wish winter would hurry up and return."

Sitting across from him, Darwin Vinkus couldn't help but chuckle. "They finally got to you, eh?"

"As much as I love the freedoms of protest and being able to make your voice known, I don't particularly enjoy the people from Gehenna's End."

"None of us do." Vinkus remarked, bringing his handheld touch flatscreen to eye level again. "I can't tell you the number of times I've ranted in the United Nations general assembly about censuring those idiots. If they want to die so much, they should just drink some tainted Kool-Aid and be done with it. Putting up with their venom while the rest of us are busy trying to save the world is not something we should have to do."

"Well, we could always have them taken out back and shot." Marcel suggested, though the roll of his eyes implied he meant it in jest.

"If only." Vinkus muttered. "But thankfully, we don't live under the control of a police state." He tapped a few buttons on his flatscreen and brought up another display. "So, it looks like I'll have some good news for my next meeting in New Amsterdam. It's nice to have SKYLIGHT meeting its deadlines. Not to mention, required."

"Yes, yes." Dr. Hostick waved a hand about airily. "Though Dr. Wily, as well as his contacts on earth, remain as tight-lipped as ever about the technology behind their Buster Cannon. At least we have video feeds of the production. I just wish they'd tell the rest of us. What if something goes wrong, and we lose them all? Light, Wily, the others on the development team? What would we do then?"

Vinkus nodded. "I would be lying if I told you I hadn't had similar thoughts myself." The Second Rainbow's representative set his flatscreen aside and leaned forward, perching his chin on his hands. "What I have learned about Light and Wily is that they are both extremely gun-shy. For as much as they wish their work to be a source of inherent goodness in the world, they forever temper their efforts with a legacy of metal. The Kewbees, the GAIDNs, and their flight from the United States, courtesy of Mr. Oliver Xanthos…all of their experiences has convinced them that the world cannot be trusted."

Vinkus smiled sadly. "In many ways, I am greatly surprised that they haven't yet told the world to take a flying leap. It speaks to their character--Dr. Wily's, especially--that even after all that has happened to them, they maintain their beneficent viewpoints."

"But their experience is hardly unusual." The Site Coordinator retorted. "Every engineer, physicist, botanist and all the rest all come from a world that is wartorn. We've all watched the world burn and had that same thought, _that it cannot be trusted._ Yet we do. We strive to rebuild and protect this world of ours, because it is the only one we have. Why then, should I give any further attention or respect to those two Amer…sorry, those two _Japanese_ scientists?" He raised an eyebrow, highlighting Light and Wily's unique status as Japanese refugee citizens.

Vinkus's lips thinned. "I wish I had a good answer for you. It's just a hunch, you might say. Their talents have touched everything within the Second Rainbow."

"Hm." Director Van Hostick glanced out of his window again and watched the Gehenna's End protestors continue their tirade. "So these are the people we sacrifice to protect."

"So they say." Vinkus tapped his chair's armrest. "You know, of the two of them, I worry more about Dr. Light."

"How so?"

"He's far more reclusive than his friend, Dr. Wily. He hardly ever leaves that house of his anymore. God only knows what he's doing." Vinkus brought his hand up and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And his outlook…The most powerful villains are the ones who had the farthest to fall from grace."

"Are you suggesting we need to keep an eye on him?"

"No." Vinkus said, and his gaze stared out to some distant spot beyond the wall. "But I will always worry."

* * *

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve_

_Dr. Light's House_

_August 8__th__, 2059 C.E._

_8:24 A.M._

Light settled into his recliner and pulled his laptop on top of his legs. "All right, Eddie, I suppose there's no sense putting this off any longer. You brewed some hot coffee for me?"

From the nearby kitchen, a robotic droning beep came in reply. By pitch alone, Light identified the response as being a positive one. He smiled and pulled up his computer's connections menu. "Good. Bring me in a thermos of it…use the kitchen assist panel."

With his small red Fliptop unit busy, the portly robotics engineer examined the deep scan data the SKYLIGHT Metool control servers had collected.

"Clean…clean…clean…"

Light frowned, and finished poring over the rest. "Slag it. Computer, bring up the default positronic gridmap. Set it as an underlay behind every deep scanned Metool. Highlight differential areas in blue."

The small computer quickly set to work, drawing on the power and resources from his home's firewalled server.

A Metool's positronic brain--really, any LightTech robot's positronic brain had a specific and defined structure upon activation. Viewed remotely through a digital representation, the pathways resembled a very intricate and latticed spherical orb, more snowflake than snowball. A robot's experiences, its duties, the interactions it had with other robots and other humans, and the knowledge it gained all acted together to redefine and reshape the electronic neural pathways inside of a robot's head. In truth, only one component of the brain was never reshaped; The Core Module. It had been built that way, the one unfailing and unceasing piece of a very convoluted maze.

Eddie finally came plodding into the room, somehow managing to balance an empty teacup on top of his head. He came up beside Light's reclining chair and beeped loudly to get the scientist's attention.

"Aah, thanks, Eddie." Light reached down and fumbled around with a free hand, finally managing to grab the ceramic mug. "You got the coffee loaded up in your compressed air launcher?" Eddie beeped another affirmative.

"It's warm?" Another beep.

"…The lid's screwed on it this time, right?"

A slightly lower beep that might have expressed irritation, if Eddie was capable of emotions.

"All right, all right. Launch it up for me then."

Eddie flipped his lid, released a powerful compressed blast of air with a _shhoooomp_, and fired the thermos of coffee up to head level. Light caught it with a swipe of his hand, unscrewed the cap, and poured himself a liberal amount. "Muuch better. Your aim's improving."

Eddie kept his lid open and beeped at Light to get the scientist's attention. The viewscreen embedded in his head's underside turned on.

_**What are you doing, Dr. Light?**_

"I'm just examining some test data. You know why though, right?"

_**Affirmative. Dr. Wily suspects one or several Metool units operating on Project SKYLIGHT have become defective, and wishes you to run a thorough sweep of their positronic matrices.**_

"Two for two, Eddie. You certainly know what you're talking abou…"

Light paused, and glanced down at Eddie with disturbing scrutiny.

_**Is there a malfunction, Dr. Light?**_

"No, no." Light finally said. "You just got me thinking, was all."

_**On what?**_

"Well, look at this…" Light reached down, grabbed Eddie by the rim of his head, and lifted the robot up into the air. Eddie kicked his feet out until Light set him down on an arm rest, and then quickly displayed another message.

_**That was an unexpected and unwelcome sensation.**_

"I'll try to remember not to do it again. But take a look at this." Light motioned to the screen, where all the diagrams were spinning. "See, these are all the positronic matrices for all the Metools up at SKYLIGHT. Under them, I meshed a display for what a Metool's positronic brain looks like when it's first activated."

Eddie glanced down at the screen, then turned his opened head towards Dr. Light.

_**And the blue flashing areas?**_

"Those are where deviations have taken place."

_**I was led to understand that such deviations are normal under routine operations, as well as benign.**_

"True." Light shrugged. "The experiences and additional programming Metools receive in their period of service alter the pathways. That's why I created this display to be like a three-dimensional snowflake…Every robot's positronic brain is just a little bit different."

_**Including mine?**_

Light laughed a bit. "Yes, Eddie, even yours. Especially yours, if my guess is right."

The robot blinked at him, and Light realized that Eddie was waiting for clarification. "You're…different. Do you remember anything from before we installed the Core Module into you?"

_**I cannot recall any specific details of my activities prior to the integration of the Core Module, Dr. Light. My memory banks do, however, specify I was active for a certain duration prior to that modification.**_

"Yeah, that's right. Do you remember what you asked us when we reactivated you from the Core Module install?"

_**I do not.**_

Light tugged at his beard. "You asked us if we were your creators. That was an unusual question, considering we didn't program you to _ask_ questions to begin with. The same thing's apparently happened with a Metool, or perhaps more than one Metool, up at SKYLIGHT." Light pointed to the screen of his laptop. "So I'm looking at the blue areas, where changes from the original positronic settings have taken place…and looking to see what areas are similar between them all."

_**But as you have said, Dr. Light, every robot's mind is unique. How could there be similarities?**_

"That…" Light hesitated. "…that part I don't know yet. I'm basing all of this on a hunch. And maybe I'm completely wrong, but there has to be some connection. Something I'm missing."

_**The concept of a "hunch" is illogical. There is no data to support such a claim.**_

"Yet." Light reprimanded his creation. "But we learn by doing. Guessing is the first step in finding out the truth."

_**I calculate a negligible chance that I can sway you from this spotty course of action. **_

"Yeah, you'd be right." Light exhaled. "First rule about humans, Eddie…We're very illogical."

_**My compiled data supports that conjecture. Request a return to my normal duties.**_

"Yeah, yeah." Light picked up Eddie again and sat him down. "Run along. I've got my coffee and the entire morning ahead of me."

Eddie tottered off soundlessly, leaving Light staring at a screen full of spherical snowflakes spotted in blue. "Time to get to work." The scientist muttered, and typed in his next command.

_Compare positronic deviations. List similarities._

It took his computer twenty seconds to bring up the matches. Light winced at the results.

"No complete matches. Only partials." He resigned himself to a long and tedious scan of the data, and set to work.

Dr. Light was on his second cup of coffee when he realized something very important.

One Metool had no similar positronic deviations with any of the others. The snowflake representing its mind, on closer inspection, was alarming.

Nearly 65 percent of its electronic brain showed flashing blue. Light brought up the robot, and let its designation burn into his retinas.

He said it aloud, and remembered the name.

"RD-224."

* * *

_Sennet Robotics_

_Sao Paulo, Brazil_

_August 14__th__, 2059 C.E._

_1:47 A.M._

Dr. Mikhail "Sergei" Sergeyivich Cossack was, by all accounts, a young and bustling busybody. His drive and passion for the arts of robotic engineering had made him a dynamic and controlling figure within the halls and conference rooms of Trenton Corbun's landmark company. All those who knew him would say he was the quickest to laugh, the first to offer a helping hand or a fresh perspective, and the last to leave a friend in the lurch. They also freely admitted that he had no life outside of work.

That, of course, was why he was still working in his private laboratory with the clock ticking down towards 2 in the morning. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep as much as he felt he _couldn't._ He didn't feel like trusting this next phase of the project to anyone else. He was constructing an exploratory robot adaptable for close quarters and long-range exploration. A single head-attached rotor gave the mechanoid its primary aerial movement, and smaller fans around its base gave it directional thrust. It wasn't very big, but it was light.

More importantly, if he finished this last design change with the directional rotors in its landing base, it would be incredibly energy efficient. Designated the "Helipon", keeping in line with friendlier sounding names, it would be a small but welcome addition to the Sennet Robotics' exploration and observation line. Smaller meant cheaper…and cheaper meant there was a very good chance more of them would be bought.

Given the grumblings around the office, Sennet Robotics needed a shot in the arm.

His laboratory's vidphone, a meter and a half down the counter and away from him, suddenly lit up. The noise chirped up a heartbeat later.

**"Incoming call. Incoming call."**

_"Niechevo!"_ Cossack almost jumped out of his seat. Glowering, he set his tools aside and pushed himself away from the Helipon's bare circuits. "Who in the devil is…"

He glanced over to the vidphone's viewscreen and promptly shut up when the Caller ID displayed the number. It made his head swim. After all, they hadn't spoken in…

Sergei walked over next to the phone, but held his finger above the "Receive" button for several more rings. It was only right before the answering machine would have kicked in that he finally worked up the nerve to accept the call. His finger came down hard on the button, and the screen flashed to life.

The young, red-haired Russian robotic engineer found himself staring at an older and permanently sallow-faced man. The similarities between them, brown and red hair aside, were unmistakable.

But then, all Cossacks had that strong chin. Especially Sergei's father, Yuri.

_"I was beginning to think you would not answer." _Dr. Yuri Cossack remarked grimly. _"But at last I can see you are still alive, Mikhail."_

"It's Sergei." The younger Cossack answered sullenly.

_"Your denial of the name I gave you is a sore point with me, son."_

"So is everything else I do." Sergei folded his arms. "So why have you called, father? We haven't spoken in years. Why now? Are you just bored up at the Second Rainbow?"

_"My work is for the good of all mankind, you sniveling…!" _Yuri caught himself and cleared his throat to calm the red that now covered his drawn face. _"Tch. You would like me to yell at you, so you could hang up the phone and feel justified. But there are things we need to discuss."_

"Such as?"

Yuri fidgeted in front of his camera for a moment. _"I have kept track of your…progress…at that company you work for."_

"Sennet Robotics?" Sergei prodded, smiling cannily. So like his father, to not even be able to admit his son's career openly. If things had gone according to Yuri's plan, his son would have become a star biochemist. As it stood, the son of Yuri Cossack had shown aptitudes far beyond any predictions the father could have made. Sergei firmly believed that chance had nothing to do with it.

After all, Einstein had always refused to believe God played dice with the universe…

_"Yes." _Yuri muttered, glancing to the side. His gaze came back soon enough. _"But as it is, Mikhail, even though you have come up through the ranks, the company you are employed with is in trouble."_

"We'll get through it."

_"I have friends in the Second Rainbow who do not believe that will be the result. Mikhail…"_

"Sergei!"

_"…Whatever you call yourself now. My son, I may not approve of your career, and my opinions on robots and advanced technologies are well known. But I am still your father. Let me speak for you. I can get you a place within the Second Rainbow. There, your career options will be safe…"_

"Oh, right." Sergei snapped bitterly. "Working on the payroll of countries that were responsible for the Wars? Responsible for killing my mother? No."

_"The Second Rainbow works for the United Nations, not the war-mongering nations!" _Yuri screamed. _"Come on, you know that as well as anyone! Even your so-called heroes, Doctors Light and Wily, are a part of the Second Rainbow. And they're expatriates. Why then, do you refuse to quit your job at Sennet and join us, where your career is safe?"_

"Because it's my career!" Sergei beat a fist against his chest. "It is something that I control, father, not you! If I were to become a member of the Rainbow, it would not be for my sake, it would be for yours. It is my life now. It was my decision to become a robotics engineer, even when you cut me off. I have made my own life and my own destiny, separate from yours."

Yuri's face went blank and stony, unreadable. _"So this is your decision?"_

Sergei Cossack breathed out softly, and nodded. "You and I…we haven't gotten along since I graduated from College in 2054. And, I think that, perhaps we shouldn't leave it like that."

_"So what do you intend, then? To mend our broken fences?"_

"If we can."

_"You continue to work in a field I have openly condemned, serving private business interests instead of the world. You do not even use the name I gave to you when you were born."_

"Yes, but we're still family, aren't we?" Sergei pleaded. "Just…tell me. Honestly, for once. In all the years I've been a robotics engineer, haven't you ever _once_ been proud of me?"

Yuri shut his eyes, and the shake of his head tore Sergei's heart in two. _"I was proud of who you used to be. I can see now that the son I raised…is dead. I shall not bother you ever again… _Sergei _Cossack."_

The vidphone's screen went black, and the call ended.

Arms shaking, Sergei reached for a screwdriver on the countertop nearby and hurled it across the room with a scream. He didn't flinch when it smashed into a pane of safety glass and left cracked spiderwebs across its surface.

In the silence of 2 in the morning, nobody was around to say anything to the Russian engineer.

* * *

Dr. Light couldn't make heads or tails of it. In spite of the excessive amount of neurological deviation within RD-224's pathways, there was nothing in the robot's service record or maintenance files that indicated anything unusual. There was nothing unique in the mechanoid's deviations that he could see, because the altered routes were made to allow quicker access to more active pathways. In effect, the "Blue" areas were nothing more unique than the robotic version of memory mnemonics, little tricks learned that altered and improved response time.

Still, as Wily sometimes liked to say, _Can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go through it!_

He sat in his living room, sipping hot green tea, watching the first season of an old TV comedy, and occasionally checking the uplink he had with SKYLIGHT's Metool server. It was a waiting game right now.

He'd established that there were anomalies, but nothing that was of any concern. RD-224 was likely the Metool Wily suspected, but proving it through diagnostic scans was impossible. It was through communication that a Metool had shown irregularity. It would be through communication, then, that Light would have to work.

His laptop chirped at him. Light switched his attention down and smiled. "About time." The server had just announced that RD-224 reported to the storage containers for a stasis recharge. He typed in a command on his laptop's keyboard and routed it to the Metool. The mechanoid had settled into his rack, according to the sensors, but hadn't shut down yet.

_Command override. Remain active, respond to LightTech query. Report readiness._

There was a momentary pause, and then the robot's digital reply beamed from thousands of miles above, came in.

**LightTech Metool designation RD-224 reporting. Command recognized. All systems nominal, but recharge is required.**

"Good." Light mused, typing in his next message. "Now let's see how you talk."

_I am Dr. Light, the head of LightTech Industries. Will you answer a few questions for me?_

**Is that an order or a request?**

Light cracked a grin at the Metool's question to his question. _Most robots would interpret that as an order and react accordingly. Consider it an order._

**Then I will comply. Please state your questions.**

"All right." Light drummed his fingers on his armrest. "Basics then." _State the Three Rules/Laws of Robotics._

**A robot may not harm a human being, or through inaction, allow harm to come to a human being. **

** A robot must obey all orders given to it by a human being, unless that order is in conflict with the First Law.**

** A robot must act to preserve its own existence, unless that action would conflict with the first two Laws.**

_State the Core Module Third Law Amendment._

**A robot may ignore any order that would lead to self-injury without First Law conflict. This is the one instance where the Third Law supersedes the Second Law.**

"Well, his Core Module's intact and functioning." Light said to himself. "But I was expecting that." He wiggled his fingers for a bit and forged on. His examination would only be valid if their talk followed a natural progression. _Thank you. Could you tell me what your duties on the SKYLIGHT project are?_

**In the early stages of the Project, I worked on the solar arrays; repair and installation. My current assignment is working on the construction of Dr. Wily's "Buster" plasma cannon. Supply distribution, oversight, and spot work are the primary functions I perform.**

Having a robot refer to themselves as "I" was no mistake; by virtue of the Third Law, Core Module robots had a well-defined sense of self. Identifying the self and having the ability to contemplate the self, however, were two very different things.

_Oversight and spot work? Can you elaborate on those duties?_

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

Tucked away in his storage rack, RD-224 blinked as he received the query. This one, he could not answer.

**Second Law override: Dr. Wily has pre-existing, specific orders on what cannot be shared with others regarding the Buster cannon project. Your query cannot be answered.**

There was a long twelve seconds before Dr. Light sent another message to the idling mechanoid. _Very well. Dr. Wily is a friend of mine, you know…_

**I am sorry, but my orders were specific. **RD-224's response was emotionlessly polite, but firm.

_Fine, then. I was looking over your performance logs. According to the task efficiency reports, you are the most active Metool on the workforce. Did you know that?_

**I had not allocated any computation time to that observation. Is this a problem?**

_Well, no. _Came the quick reply. _It is simply unusual, is all. You remain on active duty an average of forty minutes longer than other Metools in your division. You frequently continue to operate past the "Safe zone" for your power cell's rating. I am curious why you would do that. Isn't going beyond your normal operational time in violation of the Third Law?_

RD-224's mind hummed for nearly two seconds, generating excess heat as his pathways warmed from the long cross-calculations in the Core Module. The Module weighed and compared the balances and impact of all Three Laws against each other. A million minute calculations flashed by in a slow blink of the Metool's eyes, and it settled on an answer.

**First Law precedence. To prevent harm, this unit must function beyond operational standards.**

There was a pause from the other end of the line. RD-224 surmised the human Dr. Light that was speaking to him was thinking. Humans took so much longer to think.

_What First Law precedence? You are simply building a structure in space._

**From my understanding, Project SKYLIGHT is being built to protect Earth from an approaching event called "Epoch."**

Another pause. _That is correct. But the First Law does not deal with planets._

**Humans exist and live on the Planet Earth. Therefore, to uphold the First Law and prevent harm from coming to humans, it is imperative that SKYLIGHT be completed and made functional as soon as possible.**

_Who told you humans lived on Earth?_

**No one. I learned that information myself.**

_Why?_

RD-224 fell silent.

_Why did you want to learn about Earth, and the humans on it? It was not a part of your programming, nor was it an immediate concern with your duties._

**I…**

_You were ordered to answer my questions, RD-224._

There was a minor alert that went off about the temperature inside RD-224's positronic brain. The mechanoid ignored it, let the thought finish running its course, and divulged the answer.

**I was curious. I…wanted to know.**

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve_

_Tokyo, Japan_

Light sat there unblinking. He stared at the screen. The words on it burned into the back of his skull.

**I was curious.**

"That's impossible." He breathed. "Robots don't…they can't get…"

The sentence didn't change. In fact, another one followed it.

**Is something the matter, Dr. Light? Have I said something wrong?**

"Did it really happen?" Light wondered. A bolt of inspiration hit him, and he realized that there was another robot who had asked a strange question once.

Eddie. "Did it happen again?" Light asked. He let his fingers continue the conversation, not trusting his voice to speak the words aloud.

_No, you haven't. I'm just surprised, is all. Robots aren't supposed to be curious._

**I see. Observation: Your queries have followed a certain progression. There is a 78 percent chance that you believe this unit to be malfunctioning. Is this observation correct?**

_I had received reports that there was an anomalous Metool working on SKYLIGHT. My reviews of the positronic scans pegged you as the most likely candidate, RD-224._

**Am I malfunctioning?**

Light had to shut his eyes and smile for a moment. _You know, there are some things that have happened with you, RD-224, but I don't believe it counts as a malfunction. You're operating well within…Hell, beyond operational standards. _

**But I am an…anomaly?**

_You're different. I don't know how, I don't know why. But somehow, something's happened inside of your positronic matrix that has given you the ability to look at the world around you and ask questions. You're the second robot I've seen this kind of behavior from._

**Who is the first?**

Light almost typed out the name "Eddie," but something stopped him.

RD-224 was unique, just as Eddie was. Something was different about them, and he didn't know what. Already, he had probably divulged more information than he should have.

_It doesn't matter. For now, you're getting a clean bill of health. Keep on doing the good work up in SKYLIGHT._

**I will do so. I'll make sure the others do as well.**

_You tell the other robots what to do?_

**Oversight was among my duties that I listed earlier.**

_Who told you to oversee the other robots?_

**No one. First Law Precedence. For maximum efficiency, improving the quality and coordination of work was required. Will there be anything else, Dr. Light? I am overdue for my stasis recharge cycle.**

_No. No, that'll do for now. Sleep well, RD-224._

**Error: Robots do not sleep.**

**-End of Line**

Light rubbed at his eyes. "Son of a bitch. Son. Of. A bitch."

His laptop chimed to bring him out of his stupor. An E-Mail had come in from Dr. Wily.

"Hey Tom, have you found out anything yet?" Light read aloud.

Eddie coasted into the room, riding on top of a flat disc-shaped vacuum cleaner. The small red robot glanced up as he passed by and blinked once. Light smiled down at him, and then Eddie turned his head around again and rode off.

"Yeah, I'd say we found something." Light told himself. He felt very tired all of a sudden, and a lot of it had to do with how he would phrase his reply to Albert.

He shut the screen of his laptop, got out of his chair, and wandered off. Albert would assume the worst, and Light still didn't know what had caused RD-224's miraculous evolution.

And if he did find out, Light decided, it might be best if the secret stayed with him.

Wily had enough to worry about, after all. That was what he said to assuage his guilty conscience.

* * *

_August 29__th__, 2059 C.E._

_Albert,_

_ I hope this letter reaches you in good health. I'm sorry I haven't written sooner, but it took me a while to finish my survey of the Metools. Life's been a little crazy down here as well._

_ Because I know it's the most important thing on your mind…Yes, I found the robot you were worried about. I ran a full systems diagnostic as well as a personal interview, though, and he checks out. There is nothing wrong with him, either in its positronic pathways or its mechanics._

_ Yes, he does show the unexpected trait of being curious; asking questions. But we've seen that before, and it wasn't a problem. As a matter of fact, after reviewing his performance record, the Metool in question is one of the best workers up on SKYLIGHT. _

**Message delay; Body edited September 1****st****. Continues as follows.**

_You've probably heard about it already, but…Jessica Xanthos finally died. They did all they could, but her cancer was just too ferocious. From what Oliver told me, she fought to the end, staying lucid by refusing pain medications that could have helped her. She was always stubborn like that. _

_ I won't be around the office for a couple of days. For now, keep on doing your best up at SKYLIGHT. You've got robots you can be proud of._

_ I'll let Oliver know you're thinking about him. Days like this, when our friends are dying, Al…_

_ I really do miss having you around. Come back soon._

_ -Thomas Light_

* * *

_Mykonos Island, The Aegean Sea_

_September 3__rd__, 2059 C.E._

_9:47 A.M._

Jessica Xanthos was buried on the island of Mykonos, under a sky so brilliantly blue it stung the eyes. She had never been as popular or charismatic as her husband, and the long, drawn out battle she had fought against her cancer had caused most everyone to write her off as dead already.

Only a scattered handful of people who knew her and Oliver Xanthos were in attendance.

Dr. Thomas Light glanced around in the small circle of faces, seeing Second Rainbow personnel intermixed with souls from Xanthos's disbanded organization he hadn't seen in years. Many were solemn. A few were sympathetic. Most, like Light, stared over the closed casket in the cemetery, and saw in Xanthos' defeated expression some fragment of their own suffering.

Light had never been able to bury his fiancée, and his unspoken thought as he watched Oliver's world collapse was selfish and cruel. The scientist finally swallowed and took a step back from the abyss. Nobody could say how Oliver felt, or that he had been lucky in any way. Death's sting touched everyone without mercy.

The priest gave the final blessings in Greek, leaving most of the assembled mourners in the dark. Light listened with half an ear as the man spoke of the life beyond death, a world without pain and suffering. Even that was a bitter pill to swallow.

For all the Second Rainbow's hard work, life on Earth was still years from any sense of true peace. _If we all live that long._

"Amen." As fast as it had begun, the ceremony was over. Jessica's casket was lowered into the ground, and the crowd began to disperse. Some vanished. Most paused by Oliver long enough to share their sympathies.

Light remained rooted to the spot, struck in that scene of death and memories. He was glad when someone familiar came up beside him.

"I'm glad you could make it, Dr. Light." Darwin Vinkus said. His tone was subdued, polite and respectful. "I didn't think you'd be able to make it."

Light smiled faintly and watched the small crowd of people filter past Oliver. "Al's the one lost up in space. My company's taking care of itself, and Titus keeps me filled in on the details. The only other thing I do these days is sit around the house and get fat and sedentary."

"And we get older." Darwin pointed out. At forty-six years old, Dr. Light only nodded his head.

"Yeah. Some of us get older faster, though. Why haven't you quit the United Nations yet?"

"Maybe because I feel like nobody else is qualified to do the job I have." Vinkus replied. "Maybe because nobody else is interested in the job."

"Dar, if there was someone interested in going into politics, you'd be worried about it."

Representative Vinkus cracked a smile. "There is that, yes." He resumed his blank expression. "I don't recognize a lot of these people. Are they old members of Oliver's organization?"

"Some of them." Light explained. "A lot of them are members of his family. That's three of his brothers there, and their wives and kids. And grandkids."

Vinkus narrowed his eyes and stared out. "How many siblings does he have?"

"Seven of them survived the Wars."

"Christ on a shingle, that's a huge family. What were his parents? Rabbits?"

"No. Just Greek."

"Ah. Well, that explains it then." Vinkus rubbed at his chin. "They weren't very close though, were they?"

"Oliver was the youngest." Light said. "Without much of an inheritance or share in the family trade, he made his own trail in life. I don't think the others ever forgave him for that."

"It's days like this that make me glad I have few attachments." Vinkus switched the conversation back over. The two still conversed side by side without looking at each other, which didn't bother either man in the slightest. "It makes burying them hurt less."

"Funny." Light exhaled. "It always seemed to make it hurt more for me."

"What's the old line? _A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic_?" Vinkus prodded.

"Joseph Stalin." Light said, attributing the quote.

"Yeah." Vinkus slid his hands into his pockets. "Jessica was a good woman."

"One of the best." Light agreed. "She even saved my life once. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No, you hadn't." Vinkus smiled again. "But I know that she was able to bring out the best in Oliver. If it hadn't been for her…"

"We'd still have a Mr. X to worry about?" Light finished the sentence. "I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't thought the same thing once or twice."

"It might have made things easier for us." Vinkus went on. "Not right at first, but in the long run."

"How, exactly?" Light demanded, puzzled at his friend's new line of thinking. "How would the presence of Mr. X have helped?"

"It would have given us somebody to blame. To rally against." Vinkus was suddenly very cool and composed. "Epoch wasn't enough. You can't get angry at a big rock. We still need _somebody_ to hate. Without a true villain, the masses can't rally behind the light."

"Do you really think that's true?" Light asked. "It would be one thing if you were just musing, but…Do you actually think we're doomed without a villain?"

"Twenty years ago, we watched it happen." Vinkus finally glanced over his arm at the scientist. "It's only been 20 years and people are already losing their way again. A villain is a compass, Tom. Until we evolve our own, a villain is the best way to know where not to go."

"I don't believe that." Light shook his head. It was a testament to their friendship that they could discuss it so frankly. "We won't destroy ourselves. We have the Second Rainbow's promise, for one. And our robots for another. Our new technologies make it very difficult to be lost again. Robots will end up saving us, just like they are in SKYLIGHT."

"Perhaps." Darwin finally agreed. The man younger than Light, but far more tired and worn, shrugged his shoulders. "I just wish we were wise enough to save ourselves."

"There's always tomorrow." Light said. "The hope of that is what keeps me going some days." He pointed towards Xanthos, where the crowd of well-wishers was finally thinned out to a scant few. "Come on. Let's go say hello."

Xanthos put on a faint smile as the two approached. "I saw you two hiding in the back earlier. I suppose you didn't feel like meeting my relatives?"

"Not especially, no." Vinkus answered easily. "I'm more interested in how you're feeling."

"My wife is dead, Darwin." Oliver said. His smile stayed up, but only by a thread. "How do you think I feel?"

Light closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Oliver. She was a good woman."

"The best." Mr. Xanthos agreed. "But death claims us all. It's just a joke that it took her instead of me first." The multibillionaire snorted and went on. "The only good thing is she'll face oblivion faster than the rest of us."

"So you don't believe what that preacher just got done saying, then?" Light was shocked at Oliver's callous remarks. "About a better life after?"

"Thomas, I don't know what to believe any more." Oliver shook his head, and the first hint of tears began to well up in his eyes. "I don't even know whether to just accept this as chance, or see it as punishment for all the things I did in the past. The only thing I do know is I'm getting off of this island as fast as I can."

"What? Why?" Darwin blinked. "This is your home. Mykonos."

"It may be, but it's not where I need to be." Oliver snapped. He spun around, then spun back, as though he wasn't sure which direction he was going. "I…I just want to get away. I have to. I need to be alone."

"Oliver, that's madness!" Darwin argued. The U.N. Representative waved his arm wildly. "Your wife just died. Being alone is the last thing you need. You need to be around friends, people who care for you…"

"NO!" Xanthos yelled. There was panic in his eyes now. "Don't you get it? There's nothing else here for me now!"

"Oliver…!"

Light reached over and squeezed Darwin's shoulder. "That's enough." The scientist said evenly. The now crying Xanthos and the frustrated Vinkus turned towards him. "I know exactly how Oliver feels. He wants to get away for a while, to take a break from everything. He needs to find himself again. I'd let him, Darwin. I lost my fiancée once, and it's what I did."

"You disappeared for seven years." Darwin muttered. "I don't know if we…I…could go that long without Oliver around."

"What, you think I'm going to disappear off the face of the Earth?" Oliver asked. "You know as well as I do that it'd be impossible to vanish completely. All I'm going to do is get on my boat and sail off around the world for a while. When it's less painful, I'll come back."

The multi-billionare hugged both Representative Vinkus and Dr. Light, and gave them one final sad smile. "Don't worry, I won't die. Jessica would never forgive me if I rolled over just because she left me."

"Just come back." Light said. "Take as much time as you need, but come back. We still need you."

"Because the Second Rainbow needs me?" Xanthos inquired. "Or my money, at least?"

"No." Light shook his head. "Because you're a friend. And I have too few of those left anymore."

"Yeah." Xanthos exhaled. He took a step away and pointed to the sky. "I leave the world to you two. May you do a better job of serving its interests than I ever did."

His wife now dead and buried, Oliver Xanthos walked away from his friends and headed for the docks below at the shores of Mykonos. Vinkus and Light both stood in the cemetery, neither one willing to follow him or offer a comeback. Somehow, it wouldn't have been appropriate.

Darwin waited until the man was out of earshot to speak to Light again. "He's the first member of the Second Rainbow to leave us. I realized that just now."

Light blinked, and gave Representative Vinkus a half glance. "What are you talking about? We've had people quit the Second Rainbow before. Ezriah Hyrmue, for instance."

"Yes, but Dr. Hyrmue still ended up working with us to accomplish vital goals." Vinkus furrowed his brow. "When Oliver sails off…we'll lose him. Somehow, that's frightening."

"People come and people go." Light pointed out. "It's not like he's leaving forever. He'll come back."

"Yeah?" Darwin mused. "And what will he come back to, exactly?"

A cool salty breeze washed past them and kept on going, soaring to the northeast.

The wind was growing cold.

* * *

_Sennet Robotics_

_Sao Paulo, Brazil_

_November 10__th__, 2059 C.E._

_8:31 P.M._

There was a point of no return to the feasibility of any business. There was a point, and Trenton Corbun and Sennet Robotics had finally reached it.

They had run out of money. Every loan request had been denied. Orders had dried up. Trenton had lost every option available, every path which could have saved his life's work.

Except one.

A torn up and retaped business card was clutched between a shaky thumb and index finger. His phone, an older vox only model, sat heavy in his other hand.

The dial tone rang, waiting.

He had been thinking this very wrong decision over for months. It made the act of calling the number too easy, because he'd done all the agonizing over it he ever could have already.

Every finger press on the number pad stabbed home like an icy dagger, and the pang of remorse faded quickly. The phone dialed. It connected.

_"Steve Wilcox." _The voice on the other end of the line said. To Trenton, it may as well have been the Devil speaking.

"It's Corbun."

_"Trenton?"_ The head of Sennet heard the sounds of Steve shifting around in his seat. _"This is an unexpected surprise. And I'm not saying that to be cute, either."_

Trenton shut his eyes. "Do you remember that discussion we had some months ago?"

_"Vividly."_ Steve answered, too smoothly for Trenton's sensibilities. _"Although I'd written it off as a flop a month and a half ago."_

"Is…the offer still on the table?"

The line was silent for a few seconds.

_"You know, Trenton, you would probably make a horrible poker player. Your company is circling the drain. You had a pretty good bargaining position three months ago. As it stands, I could demand a whole lot more from you, because I know as well as you do that Sennet is doomed without my help. Hell, I could wait for you to declare bankruptcy and swallow your company without a whole lot of trouble at all." _Steve went quiet again, and Trenton felt a big lump well up in his throat.

_ "Luckily for you, I'm a nicer guy than that. The deal's still good. I flex my muscle with the government to get your Big Mouth contract approved, and you give me what I want."_

Trenton discovered he couldn't swallow. "Plasma cannon technology."

_"Plasma __**weapons**__ technology." _Steve corrected him proudly. _"Oh, and one last thing. If you were thinking about double crossing me…"_

"Farthest thing in my mind."

_"Good. That's good." _Trenton could _hear_ the man's sick smile. _"I'd hate for everything to fall apart. All right then. You just sit back, Mr. Corbun, and I'll get the ball rolling. And how about you fly up and you and I do a little "Research and Development" in, oh, say five days?"_

"So soon?" Corbun managed to croak.

_"Trenton, Trenton." _Steve chided him. _"We come all this way and you start to get cold feet on me? You gotta strike while the iron is hot! Do you need me to send a plane for you?"_

"NO!" Trenton exclaimed. "No, that's…I'll find my own way to the states."

_"See you in five days, then."_ Steve hung up, and the line clicked dead.

Trenton sat there at his desk for a good long while after that, thinking to himself that it was finally done. He hoped it would be worth the cost to his morals and his friendships.

It was barely twenty minutes later that his phone rang, jarring him from his confused cloud of thoughts. Trenton picked it up on reflex. "Hello?"

_"Dr. Corbun?"_

"Yes?"

_"This is Captain Stevenson, United States Navy, aide to Admiral Paulsey. I'm pleased to inform you that Admiral Paulsey has decided to accept your Big Mouths robot contract."_

"He did?" There was a feeling between exhilaration and disgust, and Trenton had discovered it for the first time. "But he was the one who was blackballing my project to begin with!"

_"Times change, Dr. Corbun. The Admiral is convinced that your robots are exactly what the United States needs for exploring its offshore resources. You'll be receiving our first payment, as well as official approval, within a week's time."_

The line went dead for a second time that night, and Trenton finally allowed himself to slump forward and cry.

He'd made a deal with the devil, and only after had he learned how firmly Wilcox's control over the entire mess had been. Unable to influence any other member of the Buster Cannon development team, Wilcox had arranged it. He had to have been the one responsible. The head of U.S. Robotics agreeing to his terms, and suddenly the U.S. Navy, less than half an hour later, saying that Sennet wasn't doomed?

"What have I done?" Trenton whispered. "What in God's name have I done?"

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_December 24__th__, 2059 C.E._

_6:37 P.M._

_**We all miss you down here, Al. Get that project finished up and get back here. I wish I could send you your Christmas present, but the next materials launch for SKYLIGHT isn't until January. I'll give you a hint, though. It starts with "M" and rhymes with "ister Coffee."**_

_** Cheers, **_

_** -Tom**_

Wily chuckled and dismissed the E-Mail. "You smarmy son of a bitch." He stood up, grateful for the artificial gravity aboard the space station, and glanced around his private quarters.

There was a knock at the door. He moved over to answer it, and when the door hissed open, it was Cosmonaut Grigori Kechmenov, slightly inebriated with a half drunk bottle of vodka in his grip, that glanced back at him. "Aah, Comrade Wily! What are you doing there in, all alone? Hmm? It is Christmas Eve. You should be out here, getting drunk with rest the of us!"

Wily raised an eyebrow at the man's slurred speech and smiled a bit. "It sounds like you're soused enough already, Greg."

"Bah! Ha ha ha!" Grigori reached in the door and yanked Wily out into the public quarters of SKYLIGHT's residential section. Cheerful Christmas music, the smells of freshly baked cookies and meat (Now that they _could_ actually cook aboard the station), and the scent of more than one kind of alcohol all wafted around through the air. Apparently the air purifiers were having a hard time keeping up with all the strange smells. Wily made a mental note to have one of the engineers check the active carbon filters.

Here, though, Wily saw a room full of people and laughter and love. In this room were all the good things he struggled to protect. Camraderie. The best and brightest trying to save their kinsmen and their planet from certain doom. Understanding and cooperation that crossed every nationality and faith. Grigori was Russian Orthodox, and one of his best friends on the station was Rahjani Jahrvi of India, a certified Hinduist.

It was enough to make even his permanent frown disappear.

Grigori tapped him on the shoulder, and Wily found a glass of vodka shoved in front of his nose. "Here, comrade. Drink! Tonight is night of hope, of happiness, of partying!"

Wily accepted the glass, nodded in reply, and offered a toast. "To SKYLIGHT, then? To saving the world?"

_"Prekasneya." _Grigori grinned back, complimenting him.

Wily took a long drink of the vodka and let it burn all the way down his throat. This was the good stuff. Triple distilled, probably.

The music in the room switched to a slow and soft carol. The room's conversations grew quiet, because if there was one song that everyone regardless of religion could sing and believe in…

It was _Silent Night. _All references aside, the melody, the hope for a brighter tomorrow…those endured.

Someone started singing, and soon, others followed.

Not much of a singer himself, Wily leaned back, savored his vodka, and nodded.

Here, high above the earth, they truly did have heavenly peace.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House, Shugoya Treeborg Preserve_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_December 30__th__, 2059 C.E._

_11:22 A.M._

Choices. Life was all about choices. Some days, Light agonized over them, and today was one of them.

He stared between the three varieties of beer he kept in the refrigerator. "Man. Tough one."

At his feet, Eddie beeped at him. Light glanced down at the robot and lifted an eyebrow. "What do you think, Eddie? What should we load you up with next? Heineken, Killian's, or Sapporo?"

The red Fliptop spun its optics around.

"Sapporo it is, then. Pop the hatch, Eddie, and I'll fill you up."

Following Light's order, Eddie obediently opened the top of his head up to reveal the storage cooler hidden inside. Can by can, Dr. Light filled the robot up with alcohol, and closed the lid when he was done. "There you go, Eddie. Loaded up and primed to go."

Eddie beeped at him again and popped the lid to display his monitor.

_**Surgeon General's Warning: Alcohol has been scientifically proven to limit mental capacity and may lead to memory loss, blurred vision, and loss of motor control.**_

"Your point being?"

_**Dr. Light, your health is a primary concern. First Law Precedence.**_

"First Law Precedence. First Law Precedence." Light mimicked, rolling his eyes. The scientist walked out of the kitchen, and Eddie trotted after him. "You know, I'm getting really tired of hearing robots saying that phrase to me. You say it, that robot up on SKYLIGHT said it, and…"

Eddie bumped into Light's leg when the scientist stopped moving. The red robot beeped inquisitively.

"I'm so stupid." Light muttered. He reached down and picked Eddie up, then dashed for the laboratory. "Eddie, I know how I'm going to find it!"

Eddie closed his lid to save the mechanism from the jarring trip and beeped another unsure tone.

"Your brain is the key!"

Eddie decided he did not favor this particular line of thinking, and kicked out his small feet comically in the air.

Inside the laboratory, Light set him down on a counter and leaned down until he was at eye level with the robot. "You act a lot like RD-224 does from SKYLIGHT. He acts like you. And I'm convinced that it isn't a fluke. There were a lot of unique routes in his pathways, and if I can run a full scan of yours, then I might just find what the two of you have in common. Something made the two of you different, I'm positive."

Steady on the countertop, Eddie popped his lid open and printed out another line of text.

_**A full positronic scan would require full systems shutdown with minimal power settings. **_

"Yeah, I know. I know." Light sighed. "I'll owe you, all right? Please, this is a mystery that's been bugging me for months now."

_**I estimated there was a 42 percent chance you would never think of doing a cross-reference.**_

"Wait, what?" Light blinked. "You thought about doing a cross-reference with RD-224?"

_**The bulk of my duties entails 'shooting brews', answering the telephone, and acting as a waste receptacle after one of Wily's alcoholic binges. There is ample opportunity for cause and effect analysis.**_

"You mean you had time to think. So how come you didn't tell me?"

_**The possibility of a full scan carries a certain analytical weight. Do you wish to make full shutdown an order, Dr. Light?**_

The scientist stared at Eddie, and Eddie stared back at him.

"If I made it an order, you would have to comply." Light said softly. "And I may sound crazy, but I listen…or rather, I read what you're saying to me, Eddie, and I'm sensing something. You're worried."

The robot blinked at him. _**Worry is an emotion. Robots are emotionless.**_

"Are you?" Dr. Light prodded. "I wonder. Let me ask you this. If you had the choice between turning this full scan down or going through with it, what would you do?"

_**Without Second Law Precedence, Third Law Precedence would take effect. I would refuse the full scan. A full systems shutdown is more complete than the 'hibernation mode' given by stasis recharge, and has resulted in sporadic cases of positronic anomalies in other robots.**_

"Eddie, use simpler words. Give it to me without the jargon. Assume for a moment that maybe you can get worried. How does that change your answer?"

_**…Error. Cannot compile statement.**_

Crestfallen, Light stood back up and leaned away from Eddie. "So there was a stopping point in your evolution, after all." The scientist said. "Very well. Eddie, I'm making this an order. I apologize for it. Please initialize a full system shutdown."

_**Understood. What timestamp do you anticipate completion of the full positronic scan?**_

"Tomorrow night." Light assured the robot. He looked up for a moment and smiled. "New Year's Eve, actually."

_**Is this humorous in some fashion?**_

"It's fitting." Light said, and Eddie's optics powered down, the first critical system to deactivate. Of his sensory package, his auditory sensors were the last, so he could hear every word that his creator said until then. "You'll wake up in a new year, with new possibilities. And I'll be right here beside you."

There was nothingness then, disturbing and complete.

But thankfully, for Eddie's thought processes…

Over and done before he could think about it.

* * *

_From the Diary of Dr. Thomas X. Light_

_January 1__st__, 2060 C.E._

** It's 2060. Thirteen years have passed since Albert tracked me down in the Canadian wilderness and brought me to civilization. To the Second Rainbow. It's customary to look forward at this time of year, but I find that most of my time is spent looking backwards. Maybe because looking forward is painful, and filled with an uncertainty that stretches across everything.**

** Triumphs and tragedies littered the road behind us. I've made my peace with Al and then some. He's my best friend now, and the Wars did more to make that a reality than anything else. Others have joined in those bonds of friendship and camaraderie. Trenton Corbun, who I jokingly call "our great rival," is one. Titus Grant, Darwin Vinkus, and Oliver Xanthos are others. Of course, these days Titus spends most of his time keeping LightTech running smoothly while Al and I sequester ourselves away and think up the big ideas, Darwin grows older and grayer and withered struggling with the United Nations, the world population at large, and even scientists within the Rainbow who argue constantly. And Oliver? After he lost Jessica, he just left. He got on board his Tri-Catamaran hydrofoil, the **_Socrates_** and we haven't seen him since. Were it not for the GPS marker that the United Nations insisted his ship carry, we wouldn't even know he was still alive. In time, he'll come back to us. It's just him dealing with his pain of loss in his own way. I haven't cried over Vanessa recently, but I feel the memory of her fading anyhow. **

** The memories of those who died linger in name and event. Their faces are what become blurred to me. **

** Eddie is up and operational again. He was a bit sluggish at first, but that's only because a full systems shutdown, which I did to do a full scan of him, is never fun. Our bodies don't like being put completely down under anesthesia, either. It works much the same for our Core Module robots. But, he suffered no positronic abnormalities because of it, and even was enough of a smartass to give me a beer…after jostling himself enough that I was covered in sudsy foam when I popped the tab. I'm more convinced than ever that Eddie has picked up a definable personality. He's a real card.**

** I haven't done the comparison between his scan and RD-224's yet, but when I get around to it, it won't take me that long at all. I've asked myself why there's hesitation, why I just don't do the side by side comparison and get it over with.**

** Maybe I'm afraid to know. What if there isn't a match in their pathways that can explain their curiosity, their penchant for learning?**

** What if there is one?**

** The future comes like a snowstorm. Looming, ominous. When it arrives, it always blinds us, and it's never quite the same.**

** Epoch arrives in four months.**

** Please, God. Let us be ready for it.**

* * *

_United Nations General Assembly_

_New Amsterdam _

_January 8__th__, 2060 C.E._

_9:58 A.M._

Sessions of the U.N. were digitally recorded and broadcast around the world, for those who had the time and interest to pay attention to the international institution. Cameras spun around the room and locked on the Secretary General.

An older, but hawk-eyed woman, the Nigerian member Hona Bashwari pointed to a face in the crowd. "The chair recognizes Representative Vinkus of the Second Rainbow."

Darwin Vinkus, middle-aged but seemingly in his mid-fifties by the stresses of his job, rose up from his chair and lifted a document up with him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, those of you who know the work of the Second Rainbow are also aware that the best and brightest that the world has to offer are working to resolve a host of problems facing us today. Already, we have reversed the course of global warming, restored the ozone layer, created durable and hardy crops, cleaned up vast swaths of the earth's surface, and perfected new technologies and power sources that will be of vast benefit to humanity.

"Most importantly, everything we have done was done to rescue our own species. The Second Rainbow is a coalition that has made it possible for people to live again, to breathe again, to eat and raise families again. We have been living in a time of great challenges, and the Second Rainbow stands as the shield for the human race against its greatest trial…The Meteor Storm called Epoch. Naysaying aside, I firmly believe that we will triumph, and that the human race will live."

The rest of the delegates shuffled in their seat and glanced around, wondering where exactly Representative Vinkus was going with his discussion.

He surprised them all when he tore his prepared speech into pieces and glared at the nearest camera. "That's why I get so pissed off whenever someone else brings up the idea that we're doomed."

* * *

_Dr. Light's Laboratory_

Dr. Light's jaw was slack as Vinkus ripped his documents to shreds and snapped at the camera. "Can you _say that_ in the United Nations?" He asked himself. Eddie glanced up from his spot on the counter four feet away and shrugged with a rise and fall of his head. And Darwin kept talking, the television screen filled with his seething anger.

_"There's always been nutcases promising the end of the world. They got a boost during the Wars. But ever since we got the world back on its feet in 2050, there's no place for that kind of nonsense, not publicly. Not now. And what do I have to hear? Do I hear that there are people PROUD of the work that the Second Rainbow is doing? That they're supporting us all the way? That people are even grateful that there's a group of highly intelligent and vastly talented people who are struggling day and night to make their lives just a little bit easier?"_

_ "No, as much as that's what we should hear, it's not what's given a voice. Instead, we have to put up with __**idiots**__ who are going around, marching, arguing, screaming that the human race is supposed to just die out. If you visit the Second Rainbow Headquarters in Alaska, you know what you see when you look out the window? Protestors holding up signs. And they're protesting the group's efforts to sustain the world and humanity out of the ashes of the stupidity they feel the need to repeat. Gehenna's End? More violent factions? Suicide bombers, like that __fuck__ who thought it would be a good idea to bomb the Jet Propulsion Laboratory? That didn't work, by the way. SKYLIGHT marches on, and it WILL be built, and it WILL be ready for Epoch."_

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

Aboard the space station, the human crew sat in the lounge around the singular TV screen and watched, transfixed, as Darwin Vinkus rattled on. He'd even sworn.

"They'll sack him for sure now." One European astronaut grumbled. "He's breathing fire and brimstone on international television."

A cold fire burned in Wily's eyes, and the scientist twirled the end of his mustache. "Don't be so sure on that. Darwin's got bluntness down to a fine art; When he uses it, people shut up and listen."

_"This message isn't for the people who still have brains in their heads, and the desire and will to keep on living. This little speech is solely for the small percentage of the population who are apparently so sick of life that they want it all to come burning down around them. If you really want to die that badly, then go ahead. Believe me, at the Second Rainbow, we keep track of how awful too many places on this planet still are. Go wander off into the desert, and you can dehydrate. Meander into what used to be Paris, if you're up for a little radiation sickness and a painful, cancerous death with your hair falling out. Hell, Las Vegas, good old Sin City, is now an electrical wasteland. Enjoy the slot machines, step through the rubble and the wreckage, and all the while, you can choke on the chemical and biological agents that our estimates say will make that city uninhabitable for life until the early 2120's. If travel isn't your thing, whip up a batch of tainted Kool-Aid, and I'll bring the Goddamn Dixie Cups. Do any of those, but shut up. If you're so eager to die, then go die. Leave the rest of us alone, because we're not giving up."_

* * *

_New Shirewick Freshwater Facility, Employee Lounge_

_Antarctica_

Dr. Seymour Froid smiled softly, and felt the wrinkles on his aged face thin out.

"That's the way, Vinkus." The old water purification engineer said quietly. He sipped at his tea and kept watching the miracle unfold. This was the world that his son, Cedric, had inherited.

This was the world they all still fought for.

_"Do we have problems we need to deal with? Yes. We don't need doomsayers adding to them. This is a serious time, with serious challenges that will be faced by serious people. If you're not one of them, then shut up and leave us alone. Oh, there is one last thing I'd like to add. Those protestors from Gehenna's End who've been marching outside the fence at SRHQ? That isn't U.S. property you're marching on; it's Second Rainbow property. And since the Second Rainbow was duly constituted under Emergency Powers granted by the United Nations, your "Right to protest", which you so lovingly like to cradle to, doesn't apply. Sod off, or I will have you arrested. You've got until I get back home to Ewan Lake before I start cracking heads."_

Vinkus turned away from the camera, presumably to glance towards the Secretary General. _"I believe that's all I have to say at this time, Madame Bashwari."_

The African diplomat managed a dry, expressionless stare. _"I would hope so, Representative Vinkus."_

There was dead silence in the United Nations' chambers, as those few restless members of the "Doomsaying" minority shuffled in their seats nervously and waited for the censure and condemnation of Darwin Vinkus' rant from their leader.

None came. Not missing a beat, Secretary General Hona Bashwari glanced down at her display and cleared her throat. _"Is there any other new business to bring before this body?"_

Nobody said a word. _"No? Then this session of the General Assembly is concluded." _She rapped a gavel on her desk. _"Our next meeting will be next week, at this same time."_

Seymour Froid smiled wider, and glanced out of the thick transparisteel window of the water collection and treatment facility that was his omnipresent home. A sturdy Treeborg palm tree waved in the moaning blizzard.

"Life in the wastes." Dr. Froid mused, looking back to the TV. The camera had gone back to Vinkus, who sat with a stoic and determined expression. "Hope in the government. Miracles are possible."

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_February 18__th__, 2060_

_1:43 P.M._

The Electromagnetic Accelerator rings had been the most difficult part of it all. Each had needed to be precisely manufactured with metals and metallic alloys with specific mixtures. Even with the SMSM, getting it to product the precise mix of Gallium, Copper, Iron, and other elements had been difficult.

But all the frustrations, breakdowns, and unforeseeable hitches had been dealt with, the robotic workforce of KIFs, Suzys, and Metools had performed above and beyond all expectations, and the last EMA ring was set in place. At the core of SKYLIGHT, with all its many glittering solar-paneled petals curved around it, the space station shaped like a flower in bloom had gained the weapon it had been built for. The Buster Cannon was complete.

Surrounded by a small swarm of work-dome enclosed Metools, Dr. Albert William Wily stood magnetically clamped to the decking of SKYLIGHT, protected from the void of open space only by his spacesuit. Cosmonaut Grigori Kechmenov, who had become his unofficial "Best friend" aboard the station, floated nearby. "Comrade Wily, are you sure about this?"

"I've run successful simulations, but am I sure?" Wily replied, raising an eyebrow that the Cosmonaut couldn't make out through the anti-glare visor of his suit's helmet. "No. In theory, this should be able to blow a crater in the Moon the size of Rhode Island, if we felt so inclined. We won't know its exact properties until we turn the damn thing on, power up the coils, and fire a fully powered shot."

"And pray." Grigori mused.

"If you're the sort who needs to." Wily agreed solemnly. He keyed up his radio to a new frequency. "SKYLIGHT Command, this is Wily. We are go for the test sequence."

_"Roger that, Angry German. We're diverting power to the Buster Cannon capacitors now."_

Grigori laughed. "The Angry German. I love that nickname."

"Oh, please." Wily groaned. "It was bad enough when people called me the Mad Scientist. I don't need to be pissed off on top of being insane. What am I, a nefarious villain?"

"Not in this lifetime." Grigori motioned to the heart of SKYLIGHT, and the open tunnel that lay within. "Now, stop talking to me and fire that thing. What are you using for a target, anyhow?"

"We synthesized a ball of rock and iron approximately 3 meters in diameter, and set it out beyond us at a distance of 200 kilometers. It's the best we can do, without actually having an asteroid come within striking distance." Wily brought up his backlit LCD touch panel and pressed a series of buttons on the screen. "And that was the easy part. To hit it, a lot of things need to happen in order. A lot can go wrong with this big gun."

"Such as?"

"Ah ah ah." Wily waved a finger at the Cosmonaut. "If I told you what, you'd learn too much about the Buster Cannon. And I can't have that."

There was a slight vibration that ran up Wily's legs through the magnetic clamps in his suit's boots as SKYLIGHT slowly turned its massive bulk about. Powerful maneuvering thrusters released jets of synthesized hydrogen without fear of explosion in the void, turning the station's face outwards.

Wily glanced at his screen. "Radar arrays locked on. Targeting sensors active. Charge sequence initiated." He glanced up and stared into the emptiness of space, lit only by the distant twinkle of stars light years beyond.

All of SKYLIGHT seemed to hum to life, and even in the void, Wily swore he could hear the whine of the Buster Cannon.

It was charging.

At the back of the barrel inside SKYLIGHT's core, the reflecting mirrors used for the solar cannon retracted in. Only moments after they cleared into their holding pens, the EMA rings began to glow. Only visible inside of the barrel, it seemed as though the entire fifteen meter wide corridor took on a brilliant blue sheen.

Vast amounts of power from the station's nuclear fusion generators poured into the Cannon's synthesis modules, and up into the EMA rings. A small cluster of blinding white and yellow particles began to glow at the back, confined only by an electromagnetic field that gave the bursts a loose sense of definition, and kept the roiling plasma from exploding inside of the barrel.

When the electromagnetic "shell" could hold no more hydrogen-borne plasma, the charge advanced in the only direction possible; down the barrel, pushed away from its source. It hit the first ring, and a new wave of power surged into the shot. The field strengthened itself, feeding on the raw power of the now roaring green energy it contained. When the power increased to the shell, so did the speed.

So intent was Wily on watching the end of the portal that he missed a small and minor blip in the first EMA ring; the sudden surge of power had weakened the electromagnetic shell in the rear just enough to let a tiny blot of plasma, no bigger than a pair of sunglasses, slip out and impact against the side. The barrel had taken the abuse in stride, but the radiant heat had struck at a panel covering one small, but necessary secondary power junction box that kept the first ring stabilized. The panel, designed to transmit energy as effectively as the rest of the cannon, took the blow and let the heat and power pass through it without so much as discoloring from the impact. Only the power cables underneath inside the box suffered irreparable damage. Once the shot had passed, the ring powered down. Save for that one missed blip, nothing seemed amiss.

The electromagnetic shell, with its myriad pellets of plasma, continued on. It slammed through the second and third rings, getting further increases in power. By the fourth ring, one second later, the power was such was Wily's connected device flared stronger warnings about the threshold being reached, and showed stress fatigue.

The fifth ring hit the redline.

The sixth ring, designed to handle the greatest amount of strain and the greatest power load, was the only one of the last that performed as expected. Without complaint, it fed the final 5 Terajoules of power into the shotgun blast, and launched the electromagnetic shell clear of the Buster Cannon.

To those who watched, it seemed as if SKYLIGHT suddenly had belched a massive wave of plasma; not a single toroidal bullet, not a laser beam, but a river of glowing particles, all shades of white and blue and awe-inspiring crimson. It held together as that river for kilometers, and then slowly, steadily, spread out without losing any of its power.

Behind his helmet's antiglare visor, Wily watched the wave of destructive plasma soar out into the heavens. A lump built up in his throat, and not sure whether to swallow or sob, the scientist witnessed the technological masterpiece of plasma weapons technology. A weapon without peer, and he had built it.

_I am become death._

The spreading shotgun blast of supercharged plasma went out, and there was no mistaking that it had hit its intended target. One minor flare of light had perked up in the middle of that maelstrom; just a tiny and instantly vaporized grave marker for where the target mock asteroid had been.

"God almighty, what a weapon." Grigori whispered. It took the Cosmonaut's voice to bring Wily back out of his stupor, and the scientist realized he'd stopped breathing. He took in a deep breath of life-giving oxygen from his compressed air tank, and put away his new feelings of foreboding for the task at hand.

"Yeah, what a weapon all right." Wily answered. He glanced at his touch screen and exhaled. "The target was completely neutralized. That blast…" He waited a few moments before he spoke again. "…That blast is now 8000 kilometers away and still going. Rate of decay indicates it'll fly nearly 150,000 kilometers before that plasma loses enough energy to burn out."

"You could almost hit the moon with that!"

"Not quite, but without the failsafes, you could annihilate Earth." Wily repeated.

_"Angry German, this is SKYLIGHT control. We were ready for it, but that shot took a whole lot out of our power reserves. Battery banks are recharging, but I doubt we could get more than one shot in per minute."_

"Acknowledged, Command." Wily replied. "One shot a minute is plenty. It looks like we need to go back and refit EMA rings 4 and 5 for increased power load and transfer strain. The rest…the rest are all green."

_"A refit? As in, we need to open that thing up and pull out two of those bulky rings, resynthesize, AND rebuild them all over again?"_

"We'll be cutting it close, I know." Wily snapped. "But we don't have much of a choice. The cannon damn near blew itself apart at the end. This thing's got more power than a nuke, you know. We're literally launching a barrage of miniature suns."

He turned to the vast swath of robots that hovered around and behind him. "All right, all of you! We've still got a lot of work to do, and only three months to get it done in! Prep the Buster Cannon for a refit, and disassemble EMA 4 and 5!"

Their orders given, the fleet of KIFs, Suzys, and Metools soared towards the still cooling barrel.

Grigori Kechmenov took a few plodding steps closer to Wily. "Do you think that we will still make the deadline?"

"We may not get the chance to do another test fire, but yes." Wily answered solemnly. "The only alternative is annihilation. I'm just grateful we only need to replace _two_ of the rings."

Aboard SKYLIGHT, machines bustled and hummed with more work yet to be done on EMA Ring 4 and 5.

The secondary power junction box next to EMA 1, with its crippling damage, went undiscovered.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_February 20__th__, 2060 C.E._

_10:32 P.M._

Something was out of place. An anomaly.

Sluggishly, Eddie opened his large optics and pulled himself out of another well-deserved and system refreshing stasis cycle. Sitting within his own private nook in Dr. Light's laboratory, he could make out the open door that led to the house's main hallway.

A light was on in the living room.

The doctor was still up.

The robot walked out and easily spotted Light. His Creator was a very bulky human, and was growing grayer and rounder as the years had gone by. Dr. Light was sitting in his favorite recliner, and his laptop was lying on the stand beside him. The screen was dark, but given the radius of heat from it, it was still active.

His eyes were watering. Tears, Eddie surmised from his past observations.

Dr. Light was crying.

Eddie took a running start and headbutted the side of Dr. Light's chair to get the man's attention. The scientist recoiled for a moment, but righted himself soon enough after the scare and looked down. "Oh, it's just you, Eddie."

The red Fliptop glanced up at him and blinked its eyes. He popped his lid open and flipped up his screen.

_**It is past the beginning of your optimal rest cycle. Why are you still active?**_

"I'm…I was just thinking." Light rubbed the tears out of his eyes and smiled down at Eddie. "I had a project I was finishing up."

Wirelessly, Eddie connected with Light's laptop and made a screen capture behind the hibernation. One glance told him everything.

_**You found a correlation between the SKYLIGHT Metool RD-224 and myself.**_

"How did you…Oh. Right. Wireless router." Light closed the lid of his laptop to power it down. "Remind me to start encrypting my user accounts from you. I don't want you glancing at all my projects.

_**Noted. Query: What upsets you?**_

"I don't know. That's the problem." Light sniffed. "I wanted to know, right? I wanted to know what caused it, and now I do. It's just I'm left thinking, is it better this way? When it was just you, Eddie, it was some freak accident, a miracle. You surprised us. You maybe even scared us a bit at first, but we trusted you, because you were family."

The robot blinked. _**One has never been called…family.**_

"Well, aren't you?" Light demanded. "You live with us, you take care of this house for us, you do errands for us. When you need repairing, we fix you. When one of us is sick, you bring us a thermos of chicken soup."

_**First Law Prece…**_

"Oh, stop it. Just shut up about the Laws, will you?" Light snapped. "You're not just some damn robot, all right? You're not like the others, and neither is RD-224! All this time, I thought it was an accident you turned out the way you are, wanted to believe that, but now I know it's just…just…"

Eddie thought about Light's strange mood for a moment, and then extrapolated a possibility. _**With a verifiable similarity in our positronic matrices, you have established that the curiosity and other traits displayed by myself and RD-224 can be duplicated. Therefore, we are no longer 'unique' in your mind.**_

"You're still special, but…" Light grappled with words that wouldn't come out right. "Is it the right thing to do?"

_**Request elaboration.**_

"Eddie, if I'm right, the 'accident' that gave you your enhanced AI, however slight, can be duplicated. It's probably going to take me years to get it up to speed, but if I'm right, I could do it. But is it the right thing to do?"

_**For who?**_

"For you!" Light exclaimed. "Eddie, I get excited about new things, I always have. But if I go through with this one, then you won't be the only robot like you in the world. You won't be unique."

_**An observation: With RD-224 aboard SKYLIGHT, I am not the only robot 'like me.' I am still unsure of your hesitation, Dr. Light. The only explanation which seems to fit is that you believe I would somehow be offended if more robots shared my characteristics.**_

"You wouldn't?"

_**I am incapable of emotion, Dr. Light. I have no feelings.**_

"Do you at least have an opinion?" Light asked. "You have to at least have an opinion. You always have. You don't always say it, but I know you're thinking about us, about the world around you. Maybe you think it's wrong. Maybe you despise us in some way."

The robot and the robotologist stared at one another; the scientist in worry, and his creation with the same blank expression his limited face provided.

_**As you have specified, Dr. Light, you and Dr. Wily are ones' family. In human civilization, family is a key concept towards wholeness and well being. First Law Precedence: You would do harm to yourself if you went against your instincts. No harm will come to this unit from further developments. As I am incapable of jealousy or resentment, which I surmise you think I might harbor from such a course, my analysis is that you should do as you see fit.**_

Eddie's screen went blank after that, and a slow, hesitant line of text ran across the screen. _**More company would be…preferable. With Creator Wily serving aboard SKYLIGHT over the past year, there has been little to do.**_

Light smiled. "Do you mean to say you're lonely?"

_**Loneliness is an emotion. **_

"Yes, it is." Dr. Light agreed, beaming at the eight year old robot.

Eddie's optics blinked once. _**Please attempt sleep at a decent hour, Creator Light. Your high doses of the stimulant Caffeine are not advised as a substitute.**_

"Night, Eddie." Light chuckled.

The Fliptop shut his lid and wandered back off into the laboratory to continue his stasis cycle, leaving his Creator sitting in the light of the living room.

By the time Eddie made it up to the laboratory counter and reconnected his charge plug, the light in the living room was off. Eddie closed his eyes again and resumed his stasis cycle, trying desperately to purge the last thought that refused to disappear from his RAM.

_**Loneliness is an emotion.**_

* * *

_May 21__st__, 2060 C.E._

May 21st was like any other day. People woke up, people worked, they lived and they died.

Nobody fought, though, because suddenly violence seemed all too moot a point. The people of the Earth had been given five years to make their peace, and they had taken the opportunity well.

Aboard his ship, the _Socrates_, Oliver Xanthos stood at the bow and drank a glass of wine, remembering his wife and a life well spent.

In Alaska, SRHQ Director Paul Van Hostick sat at his desk with his fingers pressed together, waiting in the silence of his office for news, good or bad.

In Brazil, a young "Sergei" Cossack buried himself in his work, finding solace in circuit boards and programming code.

Around what had once been Kansas City, 350 members of Gehenna's End committed mass suicide by poisoned Kool-Aid. The paper cups were not provided by Representative Vinkus, in spite of his fiery speech.

For most of the inhabitants of the world, May 21st was a time best spent with ones' families and friends. No raucous parties were given. Those who could afford it laid out snacks.

And nearly everywhere, a television or radio or internet feed was the centerpoint of all this activity. Not knowing the fate of the world, the humans who lived on it listened in as SKYLIGHT continued a streaming broadcast.

It was the last day that the sun had risen on Earth before Epoch would hit.

It was May 21st.

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

_Command Center, Node 1_

"Yeah, we're tracking it now." The Commander of Project SKYLIGHT answered. Timothy Zustrick, a native of New Zealand, had been given the command after years of overseeing the dismantling of war machines in the Asian sector. It seemed a weird fit at first, but the man had proven his intelligence was resilient.

SKYLIGHT carried an active crew complement of 30 human residents; that number had ballooned to 50 during construction, as engineers, weapons specialists, and architects swarmed the station to get it all ready.

Commander Zustrick glanced around the Command Center, the heart of the inhabited Node 1 at SKYLIGHT's center of mass. "All right. Just to review, Thatch, give us the rundown."

"Yeah." The man stationed at the radar tracking console refreshed his display and brought it up on the room's main holoprojector. In tinted green crossview, there was the Epoch swarm in all its glory. "Dr. Murges' solar cannon worked like a charm. It burned off nearly all of the remaining water and gas ice left on the fragments. We're left with a swath of meteoroids composed of iron, carbon, and a negligible amount of other minerals. The fusion generators sent up by Dr. Flynn and his associates are running at full strength. The storm's about 25 kilometers wide, with the bulk of its mass occupying the center. The exterior fragments are small enough that the atmosphere'll chew them up without any problems, so our focus is going to be here…"

He reached up and pointed to the dense center of the meteor storm. "This fifteen kilometer swath in the middle. And that's where the Buster Cannon comes in."

Commander Zustrick gave a focused look to Dr. Albert Wily. "That's your baby, Angry German."

Wily rolled his eyes. "Strange nicknames aside, the Buster Cannon is set to go. Since myself and the rest of the team responsible for the Buster Project still fear the misuse of plasma weapons technology, I'll gloss over the details…but in short, here's how it'll work."

He strolled up to the holoprojector's base and slid in a flash drive. The image of Epoch faded away, and was replaced by another image, this time of SKYLIGHT in motion.

"As this simulation shows, we've established the effective range of the Buster Cannon at SKYLIGHT's heart as being 150,000 kilometers; approximately one-third of the distance between Earth and the Moon. At the speed that Epoch's remains have been traveling, that means we'll have approximately one hour and ten minutes to blow it to pieces. That seems like a lot of time, but due to some last minute modifications we had to do on the cannon and our orbital position, we'll only have time for three shots. The rest of the time, we'll either be out of position or the cannon will be recharging."

"Three strikes and we're out, is that it?" One American astronaut piped up. "I didn't take you for a fan of baseball, Wily."

"Irony aside, no, we didn't plan it that way." Wily tapped on the side of his arm and the simulation continued. "The Buster Cannon essentially functions like a rifled shotgun for plasma. The charge begins at the base of the barrel buried inside of SKYLIGHT, and gains power and momentum as it bores down the barrel." The image highlighted the long tube within SKYLIGHT's central hub, and then flashed six rings around the barrel's interior. "It gets those from these six items right here: The Electromagnetic Acceleration, or EMA rings. Each ring gives the shot an added boost of power in precise sequence. These make it feasible for SKYLIGHT to house and power the Buster Cannon; without these rings, we'd need a direct feed from the sun's core to make this happen. When the shot is finally released, the plasma charges will be traveling at a comparable velocity to Epoch itself; a lack of particle resistance in the void of space gives it much greater force. Every 'pellet' within the plasma charge has its own unique electromagnetic field which keeps the shot intact and gives it form. That field will destabilize on impact with Epoch upon a hit, and cause an immediate explosion of released radiant energy…and vaporization."

The simulation ended in a brilliant flash of light and turned itself off. Wily glanced around the control room appraisingly. "Any questions?"

None came.

"Stations, people." Commander Zustrick ordered. "Establish a link to Cape Canaveral. I imagine Dr. Murges will want to know how his baby's coming along. Where's Epoch?"

The radar operator brought up his display again. "It's coming up on the far side of the moon. Three hours until it's in range."

"I could learn to hate waiting." Commander Zustrick remarked. He looked over to Wily. "Are you going to be ready if something goes wrong?"

"Relax." Wily reassured the New Zealander. "I've got a team of Suzys and Mets standing by in case something goes wrong with the EMA rings. It shouldn't, since we just finished the refit…but if it does, we're ready."

"Good." Zustrick still gripped his armrests tightly. "I'd hate to lose one of our three shot opportunities to an engineering foul-up. Especially considering your refusal to share project information with anyone else."

"Were you looking for absolution, Commander?" Wily demanded. "To be free of any blame if this blows up in our face? Fine, you're _free!_ If something goes wrong, I gladly shoulder the burden of responsibility!"

Zustrick blinked. "Fiery rhetoric aside, SKYLIGHT is on all our heads , Doctor. My concern is that the damn thing _works_."

A hard glint, something between zealous fury and outright madness, sparkled in Wily's eyes. "It will work." The scientist swore. "Of all the inventions man creates, it is the weapons that always succeed. It. Will. Work."

Wily leaned up against a wall, and the fire died out as quick as it had come. The shadow behind him vanished. "As much as I wished it didn't."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_May 21__st__, 2060 C.E._

_9:45 P.M._

Vinkus shut off his phone and clipped it to his belt. "Some mass suicides, but no rioting. No looting. No skirmishes between neighboring enemies. Hell, the troopers along the Congolese border are doing sing-alongs in Swahili."

"What did you expect?" Dr. Light asked him. They sat outside on Light's porch, and watched the starry night sky. Mostly, they glanced in the direction of the moon, waiting for the cloud of debris called Epoch to become visible. Eddie, forever close at hand, walked between the two men with a platter of pepperoni rolls balanced on his head.

"I expected the worst from humanity." Vinkus admitted. "But only a few have lived…or rather, died, to that expectation."

"You know, my father used to say something." Light told the U.N. Representative. _"People will always find a way to surprise you. _Right now, Dar, people are scared. They don't know if this is the day we die or the day we turn the last corner to rebuilding the world. And for as much as we believe it will all turn out well, only our triumph will convince them that the sun will come up."

"Heh." Darwin put on a sad smile. "Forever the optimist."

"I thought that you refused to believe the possibility of failure…"

"I refused to hear it." Darwin answered. He reached down and picked up a pizza roll. "It doesn't mean I never thought about it myself. And I saw a lot in the U.N. forces, protecting Japan during the Wars. Without people like you, Dr. Wily, and Oliver, I would have long ago given up my faith in our kind."

"That's a dangerous road." Light warned him, looking to his friend. "You can't put your faith in people. Put them in ideas, for those can't disappoint you, even if they do change."

"Words to live by." Vinkus agreed. He chewed his pizza roll thoughtfully and swallowed it. "If this doesn't work…if Epoch is the end…do you have any regrets?"

_"Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention." _Light hummed. The scientist exhaled after. "Honestly, there's only one regret I do have. I was never able to have children."

"You never gave adoption a try?"

"Be serious, Darwin. Al and I blew up our first house. What adoption agency in its right mind would let a couple of coffee drinking alcoholic nutjobs like us adopt a kid?"

"You gave up smoking. Why not give up the beer?"

"I still keep my pipe around, Darwin. No. I'm too old and too set in my ways to change now."

"You're only 47." Darwin observed.

"Yeah, and you're my age and you look like you're pushing 65." Light retorted with a grin.

"Well, at the rate I'm going, I figure I'll be a living husk in a decade. I'm not afraid to die, Dr. Light. I'm a walking corpse already." Vinkus looked up at the stars. "It isn't too late for you, you know?"

"About my regret?" Light clarified. "The only way that's going to happen now is if I build my children from scratch."

"Well, that won't happen." Vinkus raised his glass of water in a toast. "We are certainly not now that strength which in old days moved Earth and Heaven."

"Quoting Tennyson?" Light noted. "A classic bit of poetry there, but I think I'll reference someone more recent." Light lifted the tray of goodies from Eddie's head. "Eddie, access my music albums. Put Wings on shuffle."

The Fliptop opened his lid, and the first song on the playlist made Darwin smile as the robot's speakers blared out the intro. _"Live and Let Die_, Tom? You are a sadist."

Chuckling, Light let Paul McCartney do the singing.

And waited.

* * *

_Unthinking, unfeeling, Epoch's scattered remnants swung around the far side of the Moon and received its last critical gravitational tug. The storm had been traveling for years, and was now little more than jagged pieces of iron, rock, and a loose collection of other minerals in combinations never fully seen. _

_ As an inanimate object turned into a hailstorm of inanimate objects, Epoch could not fathom the course it had taken, or the devastation it would rain upon the blue planet growing larger every passing second. It was a mere act of astronomical chance that had brought it here from its comfortable orbit in the Kuiper Belt, and it had no control of its own destiny._

_ It simply was itself, as all things are. No more, no less. It could not be victimized or villainized. It certainly could not be ignored. _

_ Fates such as the one it moved towards happened all the time in the vastness of the universe; planetary impacts were a given, by the sheer nature of gravitational interactions._

_ Had Epoch sentience enough as the last bits of trapped ice water and frozen gases peeled away from it into a hazy blue and red ionized shadow behind it, it might have thought that the planet it moved towards was rather pretty._

_ Those who had sworn to destroy it would have agreed with such an observation._

* * *

_Project SKYLIGHT_

"It's in range." The radar operator announced nervously.

"Start the countdown." Commander Zustrick announced coolly. He glanced to Dr. Wily. "All right, Doctor. SKYLIGHT's batteries are charged to maximum. Now's your chance."

"Then let's make the best of it." Wily said. He sat down in front of the weapons control panel and accessed the Buster Cannon controls. When the screen shifted to display the weapon at the space station's core, a low undertone of a hum ran through the station. Wily glanced up in surprise, and Zustrick chuckled. "It did that last time, too. Is that normal?"

"Well, yeah. It's the harmonic reso…" Wily caught himself, realizing he'd nearly blown one of the secrets involved with plasma weapons. He coughed loudly and smacked himself in the chest. "Yeah, it's supposed to do that. God, bad cough."

"Right." Zustrick rolled his eyes. "Anything we can do to help?"

"Yes. I'll monitor the Cannon's vitals, but I'd prefer it if someone more versed in firing big guns did the honor of handling the actual targeting. I never was very good with guns."

A chuckle ran through the tense room, and one of the other SKYLIGHT techs came up and took Wily's place. The scientist stood beside the console and kept monitoring the systems readouts.

"That's it. Bring it up slow." Wily coached the gunner. He glanced down at his datapad, and checked a few numbers. "Buffer circuits are holding. Whenever you're ready, power it up."

"Target locked." The technician announced. "Tracking's got a good bead on it. I'm aiming just to the left of its center of mass."

"Good, good." Wily encouraged him. "That storm's big enough it'll take more than one hit to knock down."

The humming inside of the station increased, and the Buster Cannon began its charge.

* * *

Deep inside the barrel, EMA Ring 1 started to charge up, as they all did. The others kept a static and low-level charge, but Ring 1 was the first…and the most crucial. It sat at the very base, and its charge would guide all the others. The damaged secondary power junction box, responsible for providing additional bursts of power as needed tried to draw power, but failed to do little more than spark helplessly. The damage from three months before had never been found; the power cable was destroyed.

It was enough to destabilize the shot.

* * *

Back inside the Command Center, Wily screamed in panic as warning lights flared up all over the weapons console. "_Verdammt! GOT VERDAMMT!" _While the stunned technician at the fire controls sat stunned, Wily quickly reached over and hit the emergency kill switch.

"What in God's name was that?!" Commander Zustrick demanded, back on his feet.

Wily ignored him and quickly punched out a flurry of commands into his datapad.

"Doctor, what _happened?!"_ Zustrick repeated with a shout.

Wild-eyed, doing his best not to fall apart into a lunatic state, Wily whirled on the leader of SKYLIGHT. "The charge was destabilizing. If I hadn't killed it, this entire station could have been blown apart from the backlash."

"What? How?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Wily growled, focusing on the readouts he was receiving from the robotic repair teams that quickly moved towards the barrel and dove down inside. "It's got to be something with the Rings. Damnit!"

Zustrick pressed a hand to his forehead. "What do you want us to do?"

"Shut up and start praying." Wily snapped. "And bring up the Suzy live feed on the main projector."

* * *

_Cape Canaveral, Florida_

_7:47 A.M._

Dr. Felman Murges may never have traveled to SKYLIGHT by soaring up into the vastness of space, but it had been his idea to begin with, and he'd done nothing but live and breathe the space station's existence for the last five years. Now with only one hour until the end of the world, the uplink to SKYLIGHT offered nothing but terrible news.

"Can it be fixed?" Murges asked. Panic and anger would do nothing, and he could hear Dr. Wily cursing up enough of a storm in the background to suffice for everyone involved.

Commander Zustrick gave him an apologetic shrug. _"We still don't have a good idea of what went wrong yet, but we're working on it. The Angry…Sorry, Dr. Wily told us that it almost overloaded."_

Murges dreaded speaking his next question. "Is it sabotage?" The word fell hard over the airwaves.

All he got response after the silence was a long and hard laugh from Wily. _"Sabotage?"_ The German-American expatriate from Japan repeated incredulously. _"Impossible. The Buster Cannon was entirely fabricated by the robotic workforce, working under my orders. If anyone else had gotten close to mucking with it or trying to put in other orders, my directives would have stopped the effort cold. No, it's not sabotage. Just rotten luck."_

"Time's running out for the first window of opportunity, doctor." Murges warned him. "Please, do your best to hurry."

_"I know, I know, all right?" _Wily countered. _"I've got Metool teams swarming over every inch of the barrel. Something destabilized the shot before it could get underway, and my guess is that it's at the base…Near EMA Ring 1, or the shot emitters."_

"There's nothing we can do down here, is there?"

_"Keep the world from panicking. I'm doing a fine job by myself."_

An agonizing seven minutes passed before Murges spoke again to SKYLIGHT's command crew. "The first firing window just passed."

Only a nod of acknowledgement was returned. The unsaid sentiment hung heavy on them, as they waited for news of the Buster Cannon's reason for failure.

**Strike One.**

* * *

_SKYLIGHT_

_Buster Cannon Core_

The search for the cannon's anomaly was frustrating to watch, but the robots doing the on-site diagnostic were as cool and impassionate as always. After a cursory (But unfortunately, not brief enough) scan of EMA Rings 2 to 6, the bulk of the 20 robots descended on EMA 1 and the focal emitters.

There again, nothing seemed amiss. The emitters were aligned properly and EMA 1 was green to every resonance and visual scan that the Suzys provided. As flummoxed as the humans watching them, but certainly more controlled, the Metools and Suzys soldiered on.

In the midst of that storm of activity, RD-224 glanced up from his search every now and then to consider the others. During construction, RD-224 had given specific, targeted orders to small robot groups, increasing their efficiency. Outside of the humans in charge of the project, none knew more about the Buster Cannon's workings than he did.

That knowledge blazed furiously through his mind as the robot floated safe in his control bubble. It led RD-224 to consider the problem in broader terms.

The Cannon had malfunctioned, the records indicated, during the initial charge. An instability had somehow generated in the shot. But that was not supposed to happen. Unless…

Cold and rational, RD-224 calculated the source of the error 24 minutes after it had occurred. He ordered a Suzy to follow him and spun his capsule towards an unnoticed secondary power junction box. An initial deep scan revealed what optical along hadn't; The surface of the box had been warped by plasma discharge.

RD-224 opened the lid and he and the monitoring Suzy he'd recruited glanced at the true problem. The power cable, which routed additional energy to help stabilize the shot in its formation, had been burned clean through. The ends, a foot apart, sparked helplessly.

* * *

_SKYLIGHT Command_

_"Mutter un Gott." _Wily whispered. "It must have been burned clean through during the test three months ago." Watching the damage, the tense room was now hushed in shock.

"From a power overload?" Zustrick asked.

"No, no. The Metool there's indicating the damage was plasmic. One of the pellets must have escaped confinement during the charge build-up. And that junction box; We would have never found it. That thing's only active for a few seconds at the start of the cycle."

"Can we fix it?"

"Quickly?" Wily shook his head. "Another power cable install would take us minutes we don't have. We'd have to shut off all power to the Cannon, and recharge time…"

"Is another 5 minutes." Zustrick realized. "Which would close off our second window.

"Sir, SKYLIGHT's orbit is putting us back in range again. Four minutes to the target window for Shot 2!"

Zustrick bit his lip. "All right, doctor. What do we do?"

The whole weight of the world had crashed onto Wily's shoulders, squeezing the strength out of him with a whimper. No answer came to his tired mind. "I don't know." He said hollowly. "I don't…I don't know…"

Zustrick was on him in a flash, lifting him up by his white lab coat. "Doctor, if you don't figure out something now, we're dead! We're _ALL DEAD!_"

A burst of scrambled vocal binary code flashed over the radio, faster than the human ear could interpret. When Wily jerked his head around to determine the source, the translated message hovered above the holographic video feed.

**First Law/Third Law Conflict. First Law Precedence. Solution identified. Do not disable the Buster Cannon for repairs. Prepare for the shot.**

"Who said that?" One of the SKYLIGHT techs squinted at the message. "One of the robots?"

Wily freed himself from Zustrick's grasp and ran a trace. He almost didn't need to, for the talkative Metool moved into action soon after.

The ID number burned itself into Wily's brain, and the "Mad Scientist" realized it might be worth remembering. So he remembered RD-224.

* * *

The First Law was supreme. It drove every possible solution, guided RD-224 every step of the way.

All other solutions had been marked as unsuitable, because they would have taken too much time, decreased the chances of success. It was, RD-224 finally established with the greatest reluctance, the action most damaging to himself that was the optimal answer.

He hovered beside the damaged power junction box and disengaged the thrusters. One more command powered down the control bubble he and every other worker Metool used to get around the station. The lid opened up, and RD-224 pushed himself out.

It was only a short distance to the junction box, and physically the Metool had only enough time to spin himself around and line up with the foot-square portal. For a robot processing its last few moments, it felt like an eternity.

As his feet lined up inside of the box and began to scrape along the sides, RD-224 resolved the 4000th unsuccessful counter-argument of his own Survival—The Third Law—with that of the First Law.

When his body sunk into the cavity and the sparking trunk cable surged power through him to form a complete circuit, RD-224 realized that his curiosity and intelligence had made this possible, driven him to this fate.

And as his hardened, plasmaburst-proof helmet clanged home against the top of the open junction box to cover it, sealing him into his tomb, RD-224 had one final thought. As the lifeblood of SKYLIGHT melted him into a block of conductive slag…

RD-224 wondered if humanity was worth the sacrifice. He never finished resolving the query.

* * *

"That robot just…he just…" Another crewmember stammered.

"Killed itself. Gave up its life to save all of ours." Wily stared, unable to turn away from the sight. "And it worked." He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm himself before he walked over to the weapons control station and checked the readout. "The secondary power junction box is fully active again. Somehow, that Metool knew his body could complete the circuit."

"Its, you mean." A technician spoke up.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"No, you said HIS." The technician accused him.

The news stunned Wily full-on, and it was a few moments before he shook his head with a weak smile. "My God, Tom, what have you done to me?" He whispered.

An impatient Zustrick ruined the moment. "Doctor, can we fire the Buster Cannon or not?"

"Yes." Wily breathed. "Yes! We can!" He punched in one last command, and the robotic task force fled the massive gun barrel.

Cheers erupted in the control room, and Zustrick wasted no time in his next order. "Time to firing window!"

"Three minutes!" The radar operator whooped.

Zustrick smiled. "Plenty of time. Charge up the batteries to full! We're giving Epoch everything we've got!"

* * *

When SKYLIGHT finished its orbit around Earth and was once more aligned for the proper angle, the station was brimming with power. An impassionate observer would have remarked that the metallic flower circling high above the planet seemed to flare its petals out even farther, and began to glow. The radiance that stretched around the station was the strength of a fully powered blast, stronger than the test three months before had even been.

A stream of unstoppable might lashed out from the center of SKYLIGHT and rushed for a newly appeared storm of stones, trailed by a faint blue and red cloud of gases. Traveling at speeds that easily dwarfed Epoch's own, the wave of plasma expanded out and soared for the storm. They impacted, and there was a tremendous explosion of light.

Only seconds later, with no atmosphere to be clouded by dust, the meteor storm emerged on the other side and kept going…

This time, with a massive hole that left only the tail end of its left side, negligible bits of debris, flying on. The blow had been struck, and Epoch, still menacing, had been left reeling.

The second blast, aimed twenty-seven minutes later on SKYLIGHT's next rotation, answered its forerunner with equal fury. A second gaping chunk of meteoric debris was vaporized, and a hailstorm of magnetically powered railguns and laser turrets tore into the surviving mass. What was left of the "Global Extinction Event Epoch" struggled on, continuing for Earth, while SKYLIGHT calmly orbited back around behind the planet and let the remnants fall.

Epoch had been demolished. All that was left of it now was a meteor shower…

The brightest the modern world had ever seen.

* * *

_Pacific Ocean, 475 Kilometers SSW of Hawaii_

_5:45 A.M._

Oliver Xanthos had purposefully guided the _Socrates_ to the area of the Pacific Ocean that scientists had predicted Epoch would make seafall at. The meteor storm came.

Death did not.

The sky was only just beginning to lose the dark blues and blacks, and the faint light blue haze of dawn hung over a calm ocean. Oliver had stood at the bow of his ship, a glass of his family's wine in his hand, and watched the scene play out in the stars above. He had been able to see Epoch come in range with his naked eye, for the meteor storm, glowing with a haze of blue and red all around it, had seemed to be a very large star coming ever closer. Then there had been a blazing, brilliant blue and white light that pierced the sky with a soaring new star.

SKYLIGHT's attack.

Two shots it had fired over the course of forty-five minutes, and Epoch had been shredded apart. It had splintered further not long after the second shot; an attack that he couldn't make out from 17,000 kilometers below. What was left rained across the sky as streaks of fiery light. They kept falling, and they didn't stop. They were beautiful.

Oliver couldn't help but smile. "So we live then?" He asked the skies. "Is that how it's going to be, Jessica? You die, and the rest of us have to live?"

The remains of Epoch kept falling all around him, across the sky, blazing across the horizon. "No." Oliver said to himself. "No, we don't have to live. We get to live."

The billionaire who had reinvented himself finished off his wine and kept watching the sky. "All right." His eyes sparkled in the morning dawn. "All right, Jessica. You win."

Somewhere above him, Oliver believed with all his heart that one of the falling stars was his wife, showing him the way.

The guiding light showing them all the way.

* * *

_Cape Canaveral, Florida_

Cheers erupted all around them, both at ground control and over the uplink to SKYLIGHT Command. Dr. Felman Murges, though, was too old and too wizened to let such exuberance take hold.

Five years of constant work and strain had drained the astrophysicist to his utter limits. The tension of the last hour had been the breaking point, and it had been so close.

They had been that close to…

His phone rang. Felman opened his eyes again and glanced down at it.

Dr. Wily had sent him a message. **Congratulations.**

Dr. Murges looked up to the viewscreen showing them SKYLIGHT Command and sighted Wily, as exhausted as he was, smiling at him and nodding.

Murges pointed at him and mouthed his response. _You._

Wily's smile split wider, and the "Mad Scientist" of the Second Rainbow shook his head. He pointed back at Murges. _No. It was you._

Murges thought it over, and then waved a hand all around him, pantomiming his answer without a single whisper. _All of us._

To that, Dr. Wily finally nodded. Stopping Epoch had taken all of them. Every member of the Second Rainbow. Every resource, every asset, drawn towards one singular goal.

They had perfected fusion generators. They had created artificial gravity, and a cannon housed in an orbiting space station that held the power of the sun in its heart. They had weathered terrorists, extremists, and dissenters. They had weathered failure and grief, and too many close calls for comfort.

Murges flipped his phone up and sent a reply to Wily.

**We did well.**

Wily's reply made Murges laugh in tearful happiness.

**We did good.**

* * *

_CNN Broadcast, SRHQ_

_May 21__st__, 8 A.M._

_ "This is Marcel d'Whyste, your on-site reporter here at Second Rainbow Headquarters in Ewan Lake, Alaska. Many of you around the world either went home this evening, or stayed up late this morning to wait and watch. Those who had clear skies were able to see it all, with more clarity than I can provide._

_ I have covered the Second Rainbow since it was founded in 2047, and in those long 13 years, this is by far the moment that I will most remember. Epoch, that tremendous mass of metal and rock that had been aimed at Earth, is destroyed. The space station called SKYLIGHT, five years in the making, worked exactly as promised._

_ Two massive plasma blasts were fired from our world's orbiting defender. In the end, it was not five space probes, not the massed weapons of a world struggling to pull itself from war…_

_ But two plasma blasts, tinted blue and white, sources tell me. We were promised a weapon that could never be used against us. A weapon that would vigilantly watch the skies, so that we would never again need fear extinction from space. SKYLIGHT has delivered._

_ This morning, the sun is rising over Second Rainbow Headquarters, bringing a tomorrow some never believed would come. The world is still alive. __**WE**__ are still alive. And whatever God you out there listening might pray to, give thanks to him…or her…for we are alive._

_ This morning is a bustle of celebration, of jubilant praise to Providence and the strength of humanity's will to endure. The Second Rainbow, a coalition of the brightest minds in the world, had never before massed their collective intelligence on one singular goal. If this is what we, as a species, can accomplish when we put our faith, our resources, and our time to construct something that will live beyond us…_

_ It leaves nothing but good tidings for what may lie ahead. _

_ God Bless this world, and God Bless our protectors."_

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Director Van Hostick's Office_

_May 26__th__, 2060 C.E._

_1:47 P.M._

"Darwin! It's good to see you again!" Paul Van Hostick rose from his chair, all smiles as his predecessor and closest confidante walked into his office.

The wizened soldier turned pseudo-politician nodded briefly, then sank into the padded visitor's seat. Heavy bags hung under his eyes. "Good to be back, Paul."

Director Van Hostick made his way over to the counter where he kept a carafe of chilled water. "How's the jet lag treating you?"

"Not very well. Flying in from Japan isn't hard, but going all the way to New Amsterdam?"

"Yes, I caught your "State of the Rainbow" address." Hostick poured out a glass of water and walked it over to Vinkus. The man accepted it and drank it all in one go. "I'm surprised that the General Assembly hasn't forced you to tender your resignation yet. You're becoming more acerbic all the time, even when you're heaping praise."

"Those worthy of praise receive it." Vinkus explained. "But humility is always a more precious commodity. Untempered praise does more harm than good." He set the empty glass aside, more awake after the liquid. "As for my speech…Those nuts from Gehenna's End were going to off themselves whether I suggested it or not. Besides, if I was fired from my post as U.N. Representative for the Rainbow, do you think anybody else would want to take over my job?"

"Me, perhaps?" Paul suggested lightly. The offer made Darwin laugh.

"Tired of this place already?"

"Oh, it does tend to drag on a person after a time, but I've found ways to keep myself from losing what little sanity we have left around here." Paul put on a whimsical smile. "It does help that I'm constantly reminded of why we all came here. These people have come to be family."

Vinkus shrugged. "In many ways, the Second Rainbow certainly is one. But, I think, a family without direction now."

"Oh? How so?" Paul sat back down and set an arm across his desk.

"The last five years, we have been united under the banner to do everything we could to stop Epoch. Well, we stopped it. We're alive, and tomorrow is ours. So what is there left for us to do?"

"You know as well as I do that this world is still rebuilding. There are areas of polluted land, abandoned cities struggling to pull themselves back up. Our help in bringing life back to those places is invaluable."

"Yes, yes." Darwin waved him off. "The usual problems. We averted the beginnings of a new war in 2047. We resuscitated the ozone layer. Now, we have stopped spaceborne calamity. But the world has a short memory, Paul. When there is nothing left for us, what will the Rainbow do then?"

Director Van Hostick blinked. "I hadn't given it much thought."

"You may care to soon." Representative Vinkus stood back up and bowed ever so slightly. "Eventually, this world will have no need of miracle workers who exercise emergency powers. It will have no need of humans, really. We're becoming obsolete."

Paul laughed. "No need of humans? Don't be ridiculous. Do you mean to say that robots will replace us? That's impossible."

"Is it?" Darwin raised an eyebrow. "You surely saw the reports from Dr. Murges, the same as I. SKYLIGHT almost failed because of a broken power conduit. It was not humanity that made that incredibly expensive piece of technology work. It was one of Wily's worker robots, at the last precious minutes, that restored power to the Cannon."

"You worry too much, Darwin." Paul berated the man. "You're probably just very tired right now. Go get some sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow morning. We can talk more then."

Darwin's head shook steadily as he wandered to the door. "Robotic trees. Robotic workers. And always more on the way."

Director Van Hostick rolled his eyes when the door had slid shut behind the departing Vinkus.

"Robots support us, Darwin. They don't replace us."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_June 2__nd__, 2060 C.E._

_9:21 A.M._

Eddie had been riding the house vacuum cleaner around in the living room when he heard the jingle of keys at the front door. The Fliptop shut off the cleaning device with a press of his left foot and hopped off to waddle towards the door.

It didn't surprise him when Dr. Albert William Wily, his second co-Creator, opened the door up and stepped inside. The scientist, alert and looking very healthy, glanced down at the robot's movement.

"Ah, Eddie. Cleaning the house up?"

Eddie bobbed his cylindrical head and torso up and down once.

Wily closed the door behind him and glanced around. "Is Tom up yet?" Eddie shook his head. "I see. Still sleeping, is he?" Another nod. "Well, have you tried my usual wake-up routine?"

Eddie popped his lid up and flashed a message across his screen. **Dr. Light disabled all my alarm programs three months ago.**

Wily harrumphed and rolled his eyes. "Marvelous. Very well then. I'm going to go start on breakfast. You can come along and help if you like, but keep that head of yours shut, will you?"

Eddie closed his head back up and followed Wily into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, the smell of sizzling bacon and black, black coffee roused Dr. Light from the tomb that was his bedroom. Scratching his backside and yawning, he meandered out. He glanced over to the stove, where his old friend was cheerfully cooking up a pan of bacon.

Wily looked over his shoulder and smiled, and the wrinkles on his forehead stood out even more starkly. "Fat and caffeine. Never fails to wake you up, Tom."

"You're home early." Light rubbed at his eyes. "When did you…"

"Oh, not long ago. I hopped an early shuttle ride back from SKYLIGHT, once we finished the last bits of maintenance. Commander Zustrick and the rest of the regular crew can handle things from here on out." Wily turned the stove off and shoveled the bacon onto two plates, already loaded with toast and eggs. "Feels like it's been forever since I've been here at home."

"It has been a while, yes." Light answered. He walked over to the counter and poured out two cups of coffee. "But I'm glad you're back. We missed you around here."

Wily didn't protest when his friend sat the coffee down in front of him and squeezed his shoulder. "So, how've you managed without me?"

Light sat down opposite his friend and speared a fried egg. He set it on a piece of toast to make an open face sandwich. "Oh, well enough, I suppose. Watching over LightTech's kept me busy."

"You mean bothering Titus kept you busy." Wily surmised.

"Ha! Am I that transparent?"

"You've never been much of a liar, Tom. Your honesty's always been refreshing to me."

"Ugh." Light took a bite of his open faced egg sandwich and grimaced. "It'sh too early in thuh day for philosch-ofizing."

"Early?" Wily guffawed. "Tom, you overslept again **and** Eddie just told me you disabled all his alarm clocks? It's the middle of the bleeding morning and you're wasting daylight!"

Dr. Light swallowed. "You seem awfully cheerful, Al…Did you get laid while you were up in SKYLIGHT?"

"There weren't exactly many opportunities." Wily rolled his eyes. "No, Tom. But consider that we're alive when we should be dead. The Buster Cannon worked as planned, and the Second Rainbow has triumphed. Every day here on out is a blessing, a gift! I'm not about to waste it."

Begrudgingly, Light found himself smiling at the brave statements. "Hm. Well, all right. I can agree with that." He drank some of his coffee, and slowly his mind began to wake up. He remembered a question that had been lingering on his mind for some time, and found the courage to ask it. "Al?"

"Yeah, Tom?"

"I heard that the Cannon was malfunctioning to begin with. Is it true that one of the Metools salvaged it?"

Wily swallowed a bit of bacon and looked up. "You heard about that, eh? Yes, it's true. The Metool climbed out of its control bubble and sank itself into the junction box while the power was still on. Melted itself into a pile of slag, and the helmet kept its shape. Now there's a Metool helmet protecting that junction box. In a sense, it became one with SKYLIGHT."

Light nodded and looked back down at his plate.

"What else did you want to say, Tom?"

"How did you know I wanted to say something else?" Tom asked.

Albert Wily leaned back in his chair, and his hard eyes looked over his wild mustache to scan the round genius. "Because I know you. You wanted to ask me which Metool it was, didn't you?"

After a moment's consideration, Light nodded.

"The designation for it was RD-224." Wily said. There was no hiding the sharp inhalation of breath from Light at the mention of the number. "That was the one I called you about six months ago, wasn't it?"

Light shut his eyes. "Yes. RD-224 was the Metool you were concerned about. I sent you my E-Mail about it, didn't I?"

"You did." Wily nodded. "It was a bit short, though."

"I said he was like Eddie." Light glanced away from Wily to hide the shame in his eyes, and smiled when the Fliptop waddled into the room. "And there's nothing wrong with Eddie, is there?"

"Anymore, I'm not quite sure myself." Wily pursed his lips. "That Fliptop of ours is full of little quirks."

"None of them harmful." Light promised, chuckling.

"Still, if nothing was wrong with RD-224, why are you so upset about it?"

"Because even though there was nothing wrong with him, he was different." Light explained, meaning every word. "Besides that Metool, only Eddie's ever shown that same sense of curiosity. Now, we'll never know just how much he could have advanced."

"Tom…" Dr. Wily put a concerned look on his face. "They're robots. They just run programs. That's all they do."

Light breathed silently for a few moments, then nodded and turned back to his breakfast. Wily seemed glad to let the subject drop and return to more pleasant, less important aspects of their lives.

Light counted his lucky stars that Al hadn't asked him whether he'd ever discovered what caused RD-224 to have such a curious streak.

Given how his friend could read him like an open book, and given how Al had seemed to develop an over-reaching worry about mankind's growing dependency on robots…

The truth, and the failed lie, would have both been too painful to say.

* * *

_U.S. Robotics Headquarters_

_New Denver, Colorado_

_June 14__th__, 2060 C.E._

_3:20 P.M._

They made for an ill-matched pair, Trenton Corbun and Steve Wilcox. The head of United States Robotics checked his suit one last time in the mirror, not once ever ceasing to smile. "Cheer up, Dr. Corbun. This is a fantastic day for you."

"Really?" Trenton countered, dressed far more glumly in one of his company's laboratory smocks, left open to show a button-down shirt and tie underneath. "You don't need me to make this announcement. You don't even need to bring Sennet into this. Just take the credit and do it yourself."

"Well, that wouldn't be very honest now, would it?" Steve exclaimed. "This was a collaborative project. When news of this historic cooperative endeavor is made, Sennet's market share is sure to rise. And you want Sennet to do well, don't you?"

Trenton gave the man a grim stare in reply.

"Well." Steve exhaled. "You just follow along behind me and wait until I announce you. Somehow, I'm getting the impression that you'd prefer it if I did all the talking."

"This is the _last_ time you and I will ever work again." Trenton vowed, following after him as they left the changing room and approached the press conference.

"Well, that's perfectly fine, Trenton." Steve replied offhandedly. "I got what I wanted the first time."

He left the dumbstruck Trenton behind and wandered out into the press conference, all smiles and friendly handwaves. "Welcome, welcome! I'm glad all of you could make it out here today. Now if you'll all take your seats, we can get this started. Please, save your questions until I finish up."

As flashes went off from still image digital cameras, a U.S. Robotics employee came out and handed Wilcox a wireless microphone. The CEO clipped it to his lapel and continued out to the middle of the stage. "Now, I've heard all the rumors about why you're here today, the same as you have. And yes, you're here to get the first look at U.S. Robotics' brand new, top of the line robot. As you're all aware, our planet has passed another key moment of difficulty. Thanks to the contributions of the Second Rainbow, a space station now orbits high above Earth, keeping us safe from spaceborne threats with the most powerful weapon ever devised: The plasma-based _Buster Cannon._ Now, details of how exactly that device works are sketchy and incomplete, due in no small part to the paranoia of certain members of that weapon's development team. But today, ladies and gentlemen of the press, I am happy to announce that we at U.S. Robotics have _cracked_ the secrets of plasma weapons technology! The same power used to keep the planet safe can now be used to keep mankind safe here, in much smaller settings."

Steve Wilcox gestured to a curtain behind him, and the screen parted to reveal a very human-seeming mechanoid, gunmetal gray and black with a large adjustable tread underneath its torso. Its appearance reminiscent of a robotic shock trooper from some hackneyed science fiction television show of the previous century, the most pronounced feature it held was also the one that caused the most consternation in the crowd.

Its right arm was nothing but a long, ring-banded barrel from the elbow down.

Wilcox held a hand up until the shouting and confusion died down, then continued. "Something that was made abundantly clear during the terrorist attacks on Second Rainbow facilities during the last few years is that 'traditional' ideas of security no longer cut it. We call this specimen PR-1; Police Robot Model 1. As you can see, PR-1 is nothing like the feared GAIDN mechanoids of old. That isn't its purpose. PR-1 was designed to operate in combination with existing law enforcement units. Unlike a human, PR-1 cannot be threatened. Its armor plating makes it resilient enough to withstand small arms fire, and even medium grade explosives without complaint."

Wilcox's eyes flickered up momentarily to take stock of the room, and he continued speaking as the PR-1 powered up and began moving. Two glowing purple eyes shone out from the confines of the helmet-head it had been given, and the robot also watched the room.

"PR-1 can adapt to every situation. It has a sensor package allowing itself to see images in infrared, regular, and even ultraviolet spectrums. Your first impression upon looking at this robot is that it has one purpose; To kill. Yes, it is armed with a plasma cannon, and yes, it is a permanent fixture. But a weapon need not always kill, and plasma weaponry has far more uses than other tools. A bullet can only kill. But a laser beam can be used for surgery, for welding, for countless other beneficial uses. So, too, can plasma be more than a weapon of destruction. In a search and rescue role, PR-1 could fire tactically placed shots from its 'arm cannon' to vaporize sections of rubble trapping citizens. Its durability, sensors, and weapon make it perfect for the first line of scouts after an earthquake or a terrible explosion. In a setting with a wild-eyed, possibly drugged gunman threatening innocents, PR-1 can advance without the dangers of risking further injury or captives, as a human police officer might. Using its arm cannon, this robot would be fully capable of disintegrating a section of a wall for quick approach and capture of a suspect." Wilcox hesitated for a moment before he added, almost in _sotto voce_, "And if need be, PR-1 can incapacitate or neutralize aggressors as well."

The U.S. Robotics prototype came to rest again and powered down. Wilcox clasped his hands together and smiled out over the crowd. "All right, I'll take some questions now!"

One reporter was quick on the point. "Mr. Wilcox, your company has a past history of exclusive military contracts in your products. Will the PR-1 be slated for use as a war machine?"

"Yes, a derivative version we've labeled the MR-1 will be available for purchase in a few days. The military version will have an extended battery life and will feature bipedal legs in place of tank treads, as well as an enhanced _Combat Reaction_ package."

A second reporter from the European Union spoke up next. "Steve, the braintrust behind Project SKYLIGHT's "Buster Cannon" included the noted inventors Dr. Wily and Dr. Light, formerly of the United States. How was U.S. Robotics able to duplicate their work and miniaturize it so quickly?"

Steve laughed at the question. "Well, the prospect of plasma weapons technology was first given credence back in 2052, back when Dr. Light and Wily first demonstrated their versatile and now omnipresent "Metool" at a conference, and its miniaturized plasma welding torch. I could tell you that we simply expanded on the principles over the last decade, but that wouldn't be entirely accurate. We did have some help in collaboration with another famous robotics firm…Sennet Robotics. The PR-1 is, in many ways, the product of a cooperative effort made between my company's own engineers and that of the inventor and entrepreneur, Trenton Corbun. As a matter of fact, he's here with me today. Trenton, come on out!"

Reluctantly, and to scattered applause, Trenton Corbun walked out from where he had been seething out of sight

"Mr. Corbun, does this mean that Sennet and U.S. Robotics have joined up to become a joint venture?"

"Will your two companies be merging?"

As Trenton moved to stand beside Steve Wilcox, he reacted quickly to the questions. "No. Sennet Robotics remains a proud and independent entity. There are still three major robotics firms. This project was a one time collaboration."

"I firmly believe this will stand as one of the truly historic moments in robotic development." Wilcox added proudly. "Years from now, people will look back on the MR-1 with the same sense of nostalgia as they do the Metool."

Trenton saw Steve Wilcox kill his microphone, and spoke softly to the man. "Metools never killed anyone, though."

"Give them time, Trenton." The CEO replied, continuing to smile and wave to the reporters. "Every machine can kill."

* * *

_Mauna Kea Observatory, Hawaii_

_June 15__th__, 2060 C.E._

_6:45 P.M._

Briefcase in hand, Dr. Felman Murges made his way into the lobby of the observatory he called home. Once the fanfare of humanity's continued existence had died down and all the congratulatory accolades had been awarded, the astrophysicist had returned to the duties he had held before Epoch entered their lives. For Felman, it was a welcome reprieve. Let Light and Hyrmue and Vinkus bask in the glow of the Rainbow's public attentions. His place was here, where the dark of night allowed him to see everything clearer than the rest of the world could.

A warm smile came to his tired and wrinkled face when he saw who the security guard was. "Kelly!"

The young man, now years older, stood up and beamed in return. "Doctor Murges! Welcome back, sir!"

Kelly made his way around the desk, and the two exchanged a warm hug.

"My God, I've missed this place." Felman laughed. He pulled back and held Kelly by the shoulders. "And look at you! You've grown a beard! What does the wife say about it?"

"Well, it itches a bit, but it gives her something to scratch when I wake her up in the morning." Kelly joked.

"Aah, young love." Felman picked up his briefcase again. "And tell me, how's your daughter doing? One year old? Stacy, isn't that her name?"

"Close, sir. Stephanie, and she's two."

"Aah, Stephanie, that was it. And?"

"Well, she's battling the croop right now, but she's a fighter. She'll pull through it and be screaming through the night soon enough, I'm sure of it."

"Well, you be sure to take care of them." Felman told the young father. "It's a man's responsibility to not only provide for his family, but to be a positive, reassuring presence in their lives."

Kelly smiled gently and nodded his head. "I'm happy to. It's my turn, after all. Doctor, you kept the world alive when all of us had given up hope."

"Now, now." Dr. Murges cautioned him with a wagging finger. "Project SKYLIGHT took a lot of people. Many hands make light work."

"It was still your idea." Kelly pointed out, respect shining in his features. "You proved something to me these last five years, doctor. One man really can change the world."

"If one believes, Kelly, they can do anything." Dr. Murges concluded. He patted the young man on the shoulder and headed farther into the observatory, for his office, and then for the mighty telescope that always filled his nights with joy.

Just another member of the Second Rainbow who had answered the call of duty, Dr. Felman Murges returned to his quiet and simple life, and was happy.

All was as it should be once more.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_June 21__st__, 2060 C.E._

_4:22 P.M._

Trenton had tried calling. The phone had rang unanswered at first, and then been blocked. Letters had been mailed back, or in the case of E-Mails, suffered "Inaccessible address" returns. Every attempt to route a message through the other members of the Second Rainbow Trenton knew and had worked with over the years had similarly been ignored, or treated with cold indifference.

Trenton Corbun knew why it was happening. He only wanted the chance to talk to them, to explain why he'd done it…

To apologize and make amends.

It was for that reason he'd found himself on a plane for Japan and then on a railcar that took him to the small station adjoining Shugoya. From there, it was a brisk, but picturesque walk through the Treeborg forest on Tokyo's outskirts before he reached a house he had spent so much time in…ages ago, it seemed. The house, sorely out of place in the Asian nation, stood proudly as a ranch-styled dwelling with a somewhat taller and reinforced addition that served as the laboratory.

Trenton walked up to the porch surrounding the door and front face of the house, noting how every step up creaked under his weight. Apparently, it had been a while since Light had looked into making home repairs. He took another deep breath to steel his nerves, then rang the doorbell and waited.

No noise came from inside at first, but then a quiet shuffling sound grew louder when it approached the door.

Trenton took a step back and waited for the door to swing open. To his surprise, only the smaller pet door carved into the bottom portion of the front door opened itself up.

A small, broad-eyed red robot, little more than a squat canister on legs pushed through the pet door, righted himself, and glanced up with an empty stare.

"Eddie?" Trenton asked, raising an eyebrow. "Where's Thomas and Albert?"

In response, Eddie popped his lid open and fired a large projectile at the visiting inventor with a solid _thhhunnk_ of compressed air. Trenton recoiled, faintly seeing stars as whatever it was slammed off of his lower jaw with blinding pain.

"Augh! Son of a…Eddie, what are you doing?!" Trenton stumbled backwards and shook his head as he clutched at his sore jaw. He looked down and blinked when he saw that he'd been struck full in the face with an orange, which now rolled along the deck innocently. "You're chucking fruit at me?"

In response, Eddie fired another round with an even louder _shhhhhooooomp_ and caught him in the gut. The blow made Trenton double over in pain as the air was forced out of his lungs, just in time to receive another citrus round to his forehead.

Through the sea of pain he'd been forced into, Trenton was vaguely aware he'd been forced backwards to the stairs; More lumps and bruises resulted as he fell down the Treeborg wood planks before collapsing into a groaning heap on the grass below.

Curled up in pain, Trenton looked up and saw Eddie standing at the top of the stairs, head still opened and ready to fire yet again. "Please, stop! Enough!" Corbun wheezed.

Eddie slowly rotated his head and body left and right, and prepared to fire another round. Only divine intercession, or the closest human equivalent, saved Trenton from even more orange-flavored bruises.

"That's enough, Eddie." Came Wily's tired and gravelly voice. Only then did Eddie close his lid again, turn around, and waddle back towards the house.

Grunting in pain, Trenton pulled himself back up to his feet and looked up. Wily had taken Eddie's place at the top of the porch steps, arms crossed over his chest. The "Mad Scientist" had reverted to his familiar getup of blue jeans, a white lab coat, and a button down shirt with a red tie.

"And what possessed you to come back here?" Wily asked coolly.

"Goddamnit, Wily!" Trenton rumbled. "Your robot's gone berserk! It's attacking people!"

"No, just you." Wily answered. He didn't budge from his spot. "We gave Eddie orders to shoot on sight if you showed up. Just be thankful that Eddie downgraded his ammunition to oranges on account of the First Law. **I** wanted him to fire potatoes."

"Unh." Trenton winced and held a hand to his stomach. "You're mad at me. I get that."

"Masterfully written understatement." Wily snapped.

"I need to see Tom. I have to tell him that…"

"That you're sorry? He doesn't want to hear it." Wily cut in brusquely. "I don't want to hear it, either. We had taken every precaution to make sure that plasma weapons technology would begin and end at SKYLIGHT. There were only a handful of us on the project, all of us sworn to secrecy. You took that oath, Trenton, same as we all did. There's a reason Tom and I live here in Japan, left the United States behind! Eight years ago, they tried to hold us hostage, rip the secrets out of us! Only extraordinary intervention from people better than you kept the secret safe back then. You **know** why we did that. The world can't be trusted with another new weapon! EVER!" Wily threw his arms up in the air and screamed the word. "And then we found out that you went behind our backs? While Tom and I and all the others were busy fighting to build SKYLIGHT and keep the world safe, what did you do? You ran to _Steve fucking Wilcox_ and GAVE him everything you knew! Now plasma weaponry is in the hands of a Machiavellian idiot who profits off of death and suffering through robots that were supposed to _help_ humanity!"

"You don't think I'm upset about that?!" Trenton yelled back. "He promised me that it wouldn't see military use! He promised me!"

"And you believed him?" Wily spat on the deck angrily. "I knew Wilcox back when he worked at the Institute. Hell, I fired the bastard. There isn't an honest bone in his wretched body, Corbun. He was never going to rest until he got what we had, and you gave him _exactly_ what he wanted. We never took out a patent on plasma weapons technology, remember? If we'd done that, then everybody, Wilcox included, would be able to duplicate it."

"Not right away." Corbun growled. "It would take them years to pull it off on their own without patent infringement. He was going to get it one way or another. You don't think that some of the SKYLIGHT astronauts would eventually figure out how that Buster Cannon worked, pass the information back to him?"

"That might have been the case, but at least then it wouldn't have been on our heads." Wily stabbed a finger in the air towards Trenton. "But now we don't even have the benefit of waiting for it to happen, because it already has. Plasma weaponry is in the world now, Trenton, and it's because of you. I hope you're happy with having that distinction, because you're going to have to live with it for the rest of your life."

"Who came up with the idea, huh?" Trenton demanded, pointing back at him. "Who first decided that plasma could be used as a feasible weapon? YOU! Don't you dare point the finger at me for unleashing plasma weaponry when it was you and Light that offered it up in the first place!"

Seething, Wily pulled his arm back and held it at his side, hand balled up into a fist. "Enough. I've vented all the rage I have left for you. Get out of here, and never come back. Here on out, LightTech and Sennet go their separate ways. You can build all the warbots you like with U.S. Robotics."

"I came here to apologize." Trenton reminded him firmly.

"And I told you that I didn't want to hear…"

"No, but you need to!" Corbun cut in bitterly. "My company was _dying_, Albert! The Big Mouths contract was washed up, the Bullets we sent to stop Epoch had ended up making it worse! Nobody was buying, and nobody was willing to give us a loan! Wilcox promised me he could get the Big Mouths contract with the U.S. government restored, and he did. Fact is, he'd had it under his control the entire damn time. He used me, Albert. I know he did, and I'm ashamed of it, but it happened."

Wily's glare softened, and rage was replaced with regret. "And you didn't come to us?" He asked. "Tom and I, we could have helped you. Hell, we know people. Xanthos, or Hyrmue, or anybody else we've worked with. We could have kept Sennet going. So why didn't you ask us for help?"

Ashamedly, Trenton looked away. "I couldn't ask for help. Not from you."

"Pride, then?" Wily clarified, and scorn returned to his tone. "The world burned because of pride. Wars have started because of pride. I am sick and tired of pride. All it ever seems to do is get people killed."

Wily turned around. "Go home, Corbun. I never want to see you again."

Stunned, Corbun watched as Wily walked back inside the house and closed the door behind him. Only when he heard the deadbolt lock did the inventor's brain spark him into action again. He rushed at the door and pounded on it. "Damnit, Wily! What about your pride?! Where will your sense of superiority take you in the years to come, huh? You're my friends, Goddamnit! How many of those do you think I have?"

No answer came, and Corbun only grew angrier. His eyes misted up, and he pounded on the door again. "Did you think I was going to let Sennet Robotics curl up and die? Did you?! It's MY company! My last chance at making a difference! I could never let it go!"

Still, Wily did not speak to him. A shuffling at the pet door prompted Corbun to glance down, and Eddie poked his head out. The Fliptop blinked once, popped his lid open, and stared up expectantly at the man, as if daring him to keep going.

Crying bitter tears, Trenton waved the robot off. "I'm going, Eddie. I'm going. You don't have to shoot at me again."

The screen on the underside of Eddie's head flickered. **You have ten seconds to vacate the premises. **

Trenton Corbun wiped his tears, turned around, and walked off of the porch and back the way he'd come. He would never visit the house of Light again.

* * *

Inside, Wily took a moment to compose himself. He'd known Corbun would try and do something rash like this, but he hadn't expected that shouted diatribe at the end.

He hadn't expected Trenton to yell something that would make him doubt himself.

Eddie marched back inside and looked up at Wily expectantly.

"He's gone, then?" Wily asked the robot. Eddie bobbed his head up and down. "Good. Eddie, can I ask you something?"

The robot lowered its entire body down to the floor and raised it up again to shrug.

"Do you think I have too much pride?" Wily asked. "Like, I'm too proud of my accomplishments? That it's going to get me into trouble?"

Again, Eddie shrugged. Wily snorted and shoved the questions deep into the back of his mind. "What am I doing, asking a robot for psychological help?" He marched for the laboratory, and let the questions die away.

Wily's pride, unfortunately, was all too powerful for him to even recognize. His problems and worries went unspoken to those who would have been able to help him deal with them.

Inside the laboratory, Dr. Light was staring into a microscope, working on soldering a circuit board under high magnification. Accustomed to the faint smell of ozone and burned metal, Wily walked up next to his friend and set a hand on the counter. "Busy again, Tom?"

"Just…about…done." Light answered. A faint sizzle filled the air around them, and Light pulled away from the apparatus. The bearded scientist smiled at Wily with a knowing expression. "That was Corbun, wasn't it?"

"Hmph." Wily pointedly glanced away. "We won't have to worry about him coming around here again."

"Good." Light said, no venom in his voice. The response surprised Wily.

"I would have thought you'd be angrier than that, Tom. He betrayed plasma technology to the one robotics company who will see it used to cause even more destruction."

"That may be, yes." Light admitted. "But lingering over it will do us no good. If we want to make a difference, Albert, we must create a world where war machines are no longer needed. When that day comes, it won't matter how many PR or MR-1s U.S. Robotics puts out. They'll be obsolete."

The tension of the encounter drained completely away, and Wily let himself be encouraged by Dr. Light's determined words. "I suppose so. That's always been the difference between us, Tom. You do what should be done, and I do what needs to be done."

"In this case, my old friend, I think our two divergent paths are parallel." Light winked.

Wily folded his arms. "So what are you working on, anyhow?"

"A working hypothesis." Light explained. He got up and wandered across the laboratory. "I think I have an idea on how we could improve the base AI from a Core Module robot."

Wily lifted an eyebrow. "You do? Just came to you?"

"Well…I did have some help by studying Eddie." Light offered in way of dismissal. "Something I've noticed is that every Core Module robot we put out builds up an enhanced neural network. They lay down peripheral pathways through their positronic brains as they age. Sort of the same thing we do in growing neurons in our own brains, Albert. It speeds up processing and memory storage. And if I'm right, I think we could replicate that process in a robotic brain; give them an enhanced ability to learn, develop, and evolve."

Wily stared at him. "You're kidding."

Smiling, Light shook his head. Wily laughed. "Ha! Oh, you're kidding me!"

Light remained steadfast, and Wily sobered up quickly. "You're not kidding, are you? You're serious about this?"

"It won't be easy, and it's probably going to take us a lot of years yet to pull off, but yes. I am serious, and I'm sure that we can develop a smarter robot…An Advanced robot, you might say."

Wily pulled a workstool out and sat down. The "Mad Scientist" twirled the end of his mustache thoughtfully. "And will it make the world a better place? Or will it just be another technological advancement to be used and never fully understood?"

"What was robotics ten years ago?" Light asked his partner. "Robots kept this world alive, Al. Treeborgs, Metools, SKYLIGHT…All of them beneficial. People still have trouble understanding robots, but that'll never change. If we do this, we can give rise to a new generation of mechanoids. Robots able to better serve humanity. Robots that don't need weapons to make the world a better place."

Still, Wily hesitated. Light added one more statement, knowing it was the one which would bring his friend in line.

"And besides, Albert…After SKYLIGHT, I could use a challenge that doesn't involve making a better gun."

Wily threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, fine, you sold me. We'll do it. You want to get the rest of the engineers at LightTech in on this, or do you want this to be just another you and me thing?"

"Let the boys at our company worry about doing business as usual." Light chuckled. "We're old men, and we deserve our fun."

"This is fun?" Wily jokingly asked.

Light reached down and picked up a screwdriver. He twirled it in his fingers and smiled, lost in some distant place. "It's different."

Eddie walked into the room, and Dr. Light turned his view to the small, unassuming red robot…The only one of his kind left, after RD-224's sacrifice. The world had survived catastrophe, and looked for a compass to guide it into the future.

In Eddie's blank stare, and his snowflake-like mind, Dr. Light saw a road worth traveling by.

"And different could be good." He whispered.


	16. All Good Things

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Fifteen: All Good Things**

"_Nothing is stranger to man than his own image." – _**R.U.R.**** by Carl Kapek**

"_Fear arises sooner than anything else." – _**Leonardo Da Vinci**

* * *

_Keliva, Croatia_

_The World Power Plant_

_April 6__th__, 2067 C.E._

_9:15 A.M._

Anymore, miracles were becoming a commonplace affair. The World Power Plant was an audacious name for an audacious structure. Set in the middle of Europe, a rugged and harsh landscape even before the radioactive fallout, it overlooked the vast, rainy terrain for miles around.

The design of it was that of a massive tower, one and a half kilometers in height above the ground, and with a large underground support structure as well left unseen. It glimmered like a torch, thanks to the vast arrays of superconductive solar panels spread out over the entire surface, and it bristled with antennae and transmission dishes pointed out in every direction. Unseen beneath its surface was a complement of the latest in hot fusion generators. And all of this was built for one purpose.

A cheering crowd of workers, cameramen, and European Union delegates heaped vocal praise upon the team standing at the podium for the groundbreaking ceremony. At the head of that consortium, as always, was Darwin Vinkus, with the World Power Plant a powerful, ominous backdrop.

Seven years had eaten away more of his visible vitality, and now the well over the hill U.N. Representative, former warrior, and politician supreme had a wrinkled and gnarled thinness to him. Only his eyes, and a nose swollen red by a recent bout of the flu, held any warmth.

"Today, we celebrate the Second Rainbow's latest accomplishment. For years, we have struggled to supply power to an ailing continental Europe. At last, with the culmination of the technological and engineering genius of the best and brightest the world has to offer, Europe's lights will never again go dark!"

He motioned up to the tower behind him with an open smile. "The newest fusion power technology of Dr. Flynn's laboratories provides the bulk of this structure's electrical generation. Running on ounces of nuclear fuel harvested from deposits around the earth and moon, the same strength that gives SKYLIGHT its lifeblood now works to the benefit of humanity on the planet's surface as well. And on days when the cloud cover breaks, this structure is covered with power-producing photovoltaics, reinforced for a longer lifespan. Our thanks go out to Dr. Mick Jannsen and his team for their efforts as well."

Vinkus smiled. There were still some confused faces in the audience. "Now, I know what you're all thinking. Just where are the massive power cables that will take the electricity produced at this site to all corners of the EU? The truth is…there aren't any."

He pointed to one of the scientists behind him, a middle-aged Chinese man with a genial expression. "I do not believe that most of you are familiar with Dr. Shu Han. Dr. Han is one of the Second Rainbow's premiere technological wizards, and he recently perfected the use of long-range microwave wireless energy relays. The World Power Plant is equipped with a host of transmission dishes aimed in every required direction; Italy, Germany, The Netherlands, Belgium, Greece…You name it, and we have a receiving site already set up and aligned."

"We are quite literally 'beaming' power to receivers hundreds of kilometers away. They receive the power feed in the form of radio waves and convert it back into electrical energy. The Second Rainbow owes its thanks to these three gentlemen, their engineering teams, and all the other workers and dreamers who made this project a reality." Vinkus pulled out a comically large pair of scissors from behind his speaking podium and earned a long series of laughs from the crowd.

"Dr. Han, Dr. Flynn, Dr. Jannsen, the World Power Plant could only be here through your combined efforts. I would be honored if you all did the cutting of the ceremonial ribbon together."

Together, the three named scientists came down from the platform to stand in front of a long red ribbon tied up for just the occasion. Vinkus handed over the scissors, and the three each took hold of a portion of the handle and snipped the ribbon in two. Amidst cheers, the World Power Plant hummed to life.

Another accomplishment for the Second Rainbow.

* * *

Vinkus concluded his last informal followup interview at the opening ceremony and made his way towards the waiting protective caravan he had been escorted with. The driver of his limousine opened up the door when he approached, and tipped his hat.

"You have a visitor waiting inside, sir."

Vinkus blinked to his driver's quiet words. "Do I? Well, I hope he wasn't planning on sticking around here. We've got to get back to Prague International if we're going to catch our flight to New Amsterdam today." He climbed inside and looked across to the rear-facing seat as the driver shut the door.

He wasn't at all surprised to see the Australian Mick Jannsen staring back at him.

"Aah, Dr. Jannsen." Vinkus buckled himself in and reached to a nearby cooler for a bottle of iced tea. "That was a very good ceremony today, I think."

"Oh, can it, Vink." The Austrian drawled. He scratched the side of his nose and grimaced. "You know why I'm here."

"I presume it has something to do with you venting your concerns about the proliferation of technology?" Vinkus unscrewed the cap of his drink and took a long, satisfying swig of the chilled beverage.

"You know as well as I do all we're doing is throwing money and gadgets at our problems." Jannsen complained. "Loads of gadgets. How does this plant help anyone around here, Darwin? We didn't have construction crews on this project. Instead, the Rainbow used worker robots to build the tower!"

"The World Power Plant is bristling with complex technologies, all of which had to be built to exacting standards simultaneously alongside others." Vinkus reminded him. "Your own photovoltaics, for example; what else but robots could have installed the paneling as they needed to be placed on the building's exterior, hundreds of meters above the ground? Doing it with human workers would have tripled our costs, Mick. You know that."

"So we went with robots to save a couple of dollars. Wonderful."

"_Wrong."_ Vinkus snapped. "We went with robots to save the people of the world millions of dollars in taxes they couldn't afford. You're so fixated on your own small angle that you can't see the big picture. Humanity was better served footing a smaller bill for this project than risking their necks for 150 short-term jobs in a dangerous field."

Mick breathed softly for a few moments. "You got another iced tea in there? My throat's parched."

"If I blew as much hot air as you did, Mick, I'd be thirsty too." Vinkus tossed him over a second bottle. "I haven't changed my stance. Technology has done more harm than good, and the precedent we've been setting is alarming."

"So why don't you do something about it?" Jannsen pleaded with him after a long swallow of the amber liquid. "You're the Second Rainbow Representative. People listen to you. You could stop it all from happening."

"Could I really?" Vinkus mused, and he glanced through the side of his drink. "I think I could sooner try to run through the rain without getting wet. Times have changed, Mick. The world will never be as we knew it before the Wars, not completely. No matter what my own personal convictions, there is nothing I can do to change that."

"But you won't even try?" Mick pleaded with him. "We're being replaced by mechanical creatures, mechanical men. They build our houses, they operate our equipment, they even run the damned SKYLIGHT. It's too easy to rely on them. How many more things are they going to replace us in before it's too late, and we're made obsolete?"

Vinkus stared out the window and watched the Croatian landscape roll by. "I don't know yet." He replied quietly. "But when I see it finally happen, I'll let you know."

* * *

_Dr. Light and Dr. Wily's Residence_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_April 7__th__, 2067 C.E._

_12:37 P.M._

Dr. Wily heard the front door close, and not long after, the bellowing holler of his friend echoed through the house and into the laboratory.

"Grub's on!"

Wily pulled back from his current project and set his tools aside. "He'd do better using a damn cowbell." The robotics engineer mused. Nearby, Eddie glanced over and made a slightly derisive beep. "Now, don't you start on me too." Wily warned the robot. He took one last look at the work he'd accomplished in the morning, and felt a sense of pride.

If Light's programming code and his own mechanics worked correctly, their newest robot would have fully articulated, human-grade dexterous hands.

They could run the tests in the afternoon to figure out whether it was worth celebrating or not. For now, his stomach rumbled, and Wily made his way to the kitchen.

How well Light knew him.

Wily spied the takeout boxes on his way to the fridge. "Chinese?"

"Thai." Light said. "We needed a change of pace. Been hitting the General's chicken a little hard lately."

"So I take it you got me…"

Light slid one of the containers to Wily's side of the counter. "Phuket chicken."

Wily laughed in spite of himself and removed the jug of chilled water they kept in their refrigerator. "Oh yes. A load of difference right there, Tom."

"You going to complain about it?" Light raised an eyebrow.

"No, just make fun of you for a while." Wily set the jug down and got them two empty glasses. "Hand me some chopsticks, would you?"

Light passed over the favored utensil of Asia. "I noticed you were working on the hand again this morning. Something wrong with it?"

"You're the one who wanted to make our "Advanced" robot more human." Wily explained. "We humans have a tactile dexterity that's second to none. I'm merely refining the fine-motion servomotors. Those new synthetic lubricants developed over the last two years have really helped out; almost noiseless transmission of power. If my latest adjustments work out, our little friend will be able to dance a quarter over and between his fingers like a casino pro."

"Or a hundred other miniscule tasks around our laboratory." Light popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "One thing you haven't asked me is why I'm making it look so human."

"Because you're a hopeless romantic with a sense of grandeur, and you like to anthropomorphize machines?" Wily lifted an eyebrow and wiggled it teasingly. "It's nothing new, Tom. I've been dealing with your fixation since you named that blue Kewbee Kay."

"So how come you haven't said dick about this one?"

"You gave it synthetic black hair." Wily shrugged. "Considering my hair used to be black, I considered it a compliment. My eyes aren't blue, though."

"True." Light smirked. "Mine are."

Wily blinked at Light a couple of times, then spooned a helping of rice onto his plate. "Tom, I sincerely hope this isn't some crazy attempt to make a child between us."

"Heh!" Light couldn't restrain the chortles for a few moments after that. "Will, your imagination, I swear. Some days I think you have more than I do."

"And what's wrong with robots that look comically ridiculous?" Wily retorted. "At least people aren't threatened by them…unlike this one."

"You think that people are going to flip shit over a robot that looks like a human?"

"I don't think, Thomas." Wily said sternly, using his friend's full name. He reserved that only for when he was trying to make a serious point. "I know. People aren't ready for this one. They may accept an ageless robot, but they'll never accept an ageless humanoid."

"That's why we've made him resemble a child, isn't it?" Light reassured him. "So that people won't be threatened. He doesn't even have a true 'human' name."

"For the life of me, I'll never understand why you chose that name." Wily complained, deftly picking up a chunk of steamed rice and popping it in his mouth. "It doeshn't make any shense, and it annoys me."

"Chew before you talk, Al. We're not savages." Light chuckled.

Wily swallowed. "You blow farts all morning and you have the nerve to talk to me about my problems? Pot calling…"

"The kettle black." Light said in unison with him. "Yes, I know. But I named him after a style of music I enjoy, Al. I didn't do it because of your hatred of certain colors."

"All the same, you know I hate blue."

Light chuckled. "You designed the KIFs, Al. This one is all mine."

* * *

_United Nations Headquarters_

_New Amsterdam_

_April 13__th__, 2067 C.E._

Secretary General Hona Bashwari had steadfastly maintained control of the United Nations for eight years, and as a result, had overseen the world in the years following SKYLIGHT's—Humanity's—triumph. She only wished that the United Nations could remain as civil as it was when she'd laid down her oath of office. Right now, she was regretting having given the United States representative, a career politician named Preston Brawlings, the floor.

She'd have to pound her gavel soon, or there might be blood on the floor.

"The United States has given _generously_ of its resources, both in materials and personnel. At some point, everyone had to know we were approaching a point when the emergency powers accorded to the Second Rainbow two decades ago would have to come to an end."

"And what makes you think that you deserve to be the one who gets to decide when that determination happens?!" Darwin Vinkus retaliated. "We still have more than fifty projects which need to be finished! There are sections of land on this planet that…"

"That by your Rainbow's own admission, will remain wastelands regardless of the technologies applied to heal them." Brawlings cut in coolly. "Even in the United States, we have sections that we've given up on. Las Vegas, for instance, is nothing but a wasteland still bristling with electricity. The days when you fixed the ozone layer or made SKYLIGHT were years ago, Representative Vinkus. As it is now, it seems like the Second Rainbow spends more of its time putting up frivolous public works with other peoples' money and resources."

"You think the World Power Plant is frivolous?" Vinkus echoed, incredulous enough that his venom stalled for a moment. "It seems to me that you were more than willing to accept Second Rainbow aid and assistance when it served your country, Preston. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you still cling to the same jingoistic notions that made the United States unleash the Gaiden mechanoids thirty years ago. And they may hail from your nation, but your scientists know what's on the line. Those that serve in the Second Rainbow are proud of the work they do. Not just for their country, but for the world. We're trying to do more than simply repair the damage of the Wars, sir. The Rainbow is committed to making a new future for humanity…one where everyone has the chance at a better life, through projects and resources that they never had before."

Brawlings narrowed his eyes. "It would seem you've overstepped your Mandate, then."

Vinkus narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Brawlings turned to the Secretary General. "As much as my esteemed Colleague would like to turn this into a shouting match, I think we've entered into a very strange phase. The work of the Second Rainbow has been instrumental in repairing the earth, and it has lived up to its guiding mission very well. The projects that the Second Rainbow are undertaking now go beyond that initial goal of the Reconstruction, and I believe that further discussion should be undertaken. The "Emergencies" of our past are dealt with. If the Second Rainbow wishes to continue in this vein with the same command and autonomy, then it would be best if the nations _footing the bill_ are given a chance to discuss whether or not it is in this world's best interest. I move that we open up the Second Rainbow's charter for discussion."

The Chinese representative, an older man named Guang Xiao, reseated his glassed and raised his hand. "I second the motion."

"Now, wait just a moment!" Vinkus sputtered. "You're not talking about some piece of governmental kludge here! The Second Rainbow creates real results for real people who need them!"

"No one is disputing the Rainbow's admirable record of results." Secretary General Bashwari nodded. "But Representative Brawlings raises a valid point. The Rainbow's current projects are beyond its foundational goals. Approval of the Rainbow's budget is coming up soon, and it would help all parties to discuss what sort of projects would be acceptable. Just as we are accountable to those who elect us, the Rainbow is accountable to the United Nations' General Assembly."

Bashwari cleared her throat. "We are coming upon the end of our day. Is there any new business to bring before this body?" When none came, she tapped her gavel on the podium. "In that case, we will recess until tomorrow, with the first order of business being discussion of the Second Rainbow's mission and powers."

* * *

_LightTech Corporate Headquarters_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_April 15__th__, 2067 C.E._

_10:17 A.M._

The quarterly status report meeting had come and gone, and most of the staff had been all too eager to grab their digital document display panels (Triple D panels, the _gaijin_ workers called them) and shuffle out of the conference room. Dr. Albert Wily may have been the co-founder of their company, arguably the most brilliant robotic engineer they had in spite of his age, and a passable Karaoke singer, but he also had a very direct and curmudgeonly demeanor. At least to people he hadn't known for years.

Wily rubbed at his temples and glossed over the bullet points he'd garnered from the meeting. Stock was holding strong, the KIF product line was coming into its own, and Metool orders were as steady as ever. A downturn in Fliptop orders, but they'd been expecting that for a while. The London plant was being refitted for a new rubble-clearing and mining robot similar to the KIF series, codenamed "Pickman." There were a lot of orders from geological surveying teams in Africa, most of which had gone untouched by the more violent nuclear and biological weapons during the Wars. The world needed raw materials: Iron, Treeborg wood, underground water reservoirs, and precious metals in high grade electronics and circuitry. Even diamonds and other precious gems, once harvested solely for jewelry, had been found to have a second coming in communications and weaponry. Rubies, in particular, worked as a wonderful focusing semiconductor in plasma weaponry.

More was the shame that the technology existed.

Titus Grant stepped back into the conference room, a little older, a little more leathery, but still the same stubborn Australian he'd always been, in spite of the post at LightTech he'd held for years. Wily looked up and smiled at him, and Titus nodded back.

"Still in here? Crikey. I'd have thought you'd take off by now. You hate these meetings."

"Yes, but this is still my company. And Tom's." He added, more as an afterthought. He made it sound like a joke, but the truth was, Tom had largely distanced himself from the day to day affairs. The pattern was slightly vexing, given that he was the robotics firm's namesake. "At least one of us should keep up to date on the trends."

"I suppose so, yeah." Grant plopped down at a seat on the corner of the table, where Wily was sitting on the end. "I suppose you can't always trust me to make the right calls, eh?"

Wily raised a thick eyebrow. "There's a loaded question, Titus. We wouldn't have asked you to run the show here if we didn't trust you. Or could put up with you."

"And here I thought you asked me because we were friends." Titus made an exaggerated stretch of his arms. "You don't exactly have a lot of those left, you know. One of em's been sailing around the world aimlessly, another's stuck in Sydney, you've got that Froid fella down in Antarctica…and Vinkus? Well…"

"He's buried in the United Nations." Wily tilted his seat back and glanced up at the spotted drop ceiling. It wouldn't have been his first choice for a decoration, but it was functional, and hid the water and power lines running above their heads. "I haven't had a chance to ask you about that yet. What do you think of the Second Rainbow being put under a microscope?"

"It's a pain in the neck, is what it is." Titus began. "And it's not exactly like anybody there's been taking kickbacks. Hell, it's fellas like us who are only 'sort' of in it that give 'em the most headaches. They have to do business with us and Hyrmue and so on. The business helps job growth, but it's not exactly like we're selfless these days."

"A fine line between giving back to the world and letting it stomp on you." Wily set his hands in his lap and changed the subject. "So, are there any new personnel concerns?"

"There's been some grumbling around our Cairo facility. The workers aren't too happy about the new mechanization."

"We did give them a very generous severance package, didn't we?" Wily harrumphed. He knew the answer well enough, though, having signed off on it; a year's salary, exemplary recommendation letters for all their plant workers there, and assistance in finding new positions. It was doubtful that Sennet, much less the militaristic U.S. Robotics, would field a similar downsizing peace offering.

Titus shrugged impassively. "Money's fine and all, but a job's a job. We took that away from them, and their purpose went with it."

Wily turned his chair around and glanced out the window. The Tokyo highrise stared back at him. "People buy our robots and they expect quality. The Cairo plant was producing mechanoids with far too many defects, and defects cost us money. A robotic workforce can do it faster, longer, and with fewer errors. Our customers demand perfection in our product. I'm not going to risk my life's work just so a few entry-level positions can be maintained."

"Oi, easy on the rhetoric there, chum." Titus laughed nervously. "I'm just saying that people need work."

"There's work available, if they're willing to look for it." Wily replied. "Who knows? Have a look around. There may be another place in this company we can employ them in. The recycling plants, maybe."

"Righto, I'll give it a looksee." Titus made a mental note at the quiet suggestion. It was a good one, after all, like most of Albert Wily's perceptions, even if given with his characteristic brutal honesty. "Say, how is Tom doing these days? I haven't seen him around in a while."

"Oh, you know how he is." Wily stood up and tucked his notes away. "He stays in that house and locks himself up, working on this and that. He goes out every now and then to get food or go for a walk in the forest, but I think he enjoys being a hermit. That's one quality of Oliver's I wish he hadn't picked up."

"Yeah, I can understand that." Titus waited by the door of the conference room as Wily meandered around the room's perimeter to the coat rack. Dressed in his usual pink button down shirt, red tie, and blue jeans, Wily slipped his slightly overlong spring jacket over his shoulders. The scientist winced when he felt how loose it was. Light was getting fatter, and he was getting…

Titus gained a conspiratorial glint in his eye when Wily turned to him and the door. "So what is it you two're working on, then?"

Wily raised an eyebrow, having long ago learned to master his poker face. Not that it ever helped around people who knew him well. "What makes you think we're working on something?"

The Australian shrugged innocently. "Well, the last seven years, you haven't exactly been putting out any new groundbreaking developments. There's the Pengi unit, of course, but that and the Pickman is all that's new. Everything else has just been modifications or updates to your existing models; the KIFs, the Mets, the Suzys." Titus leaned forward ever so slightly and smiled. "My money's on the bet that you and Tom are coming up with something new. Something big. I hardly ever see Tom anymore, you poke yer head every once in a while, but not as often as you used to."

Wily stared at him, doing his best vacant expression. Titus only smiled wider. "I'm right, aren't I?"

The practical side of the LightTech duo shrugged. "I remember something that my old boss used to say." He finally admitted.

"What, the government?"

"Before them." Wily corrected the Australian, smiling whimsically. It was hard to think of a time before his persecution, before the Wars, but it was there. Light had been a part of it, and probably the best part for all their bickering…save for the man who had marked them for life as lab coat wearing oddballs. "He used to tell us, _think big._ Well, Titus? That's exactly what we're doing."

"How big we talking?" The Australian asked dubiously.

Wily opened up the conference room door and allowed Titus to leave first. "For better or worse…it could change the world."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_April 16__th__, 2067 C.E._

_1:47 P.M._

"Big, you said." Light repeated Wily's explanation. The bearded scientist drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then reached for another dumpling off of Oliver Xanthos's plate. Their old friend had made an unannounced visit shortly after breakfast, and they were finishing up a lunch a bit larger than usual. Xanthos poked at his hand indignantly with his chopsticks, and Light pulled his hand back, sucking on his bruised fingers. "Ow. I don't suppose you spilled the beans on which project was bigger?"

"Oh, come on, Thomas." Wily rolled his eyes. "He doesn't know we **have** two projects."

"This is news to me as well." Xanthos frowned. "I knew you two were working on some kind of new robot, but what's the other?"

"Teleportation." Light beamed. "Wild, huh?"

Xanthos couldn't help but look incredulous. "You're joking."

"We joke about many things." Wily cut in. "Our bodily functions, how old we're getting, our nonexistent sex lives, but you should know we never joke about our work. We're quite serious. Matter disassembly and reassembly."

"That's pure science fiction."

"So was plasma weaponry." Light answered. "Or artificial gravity. We cracked those. It's difficult, but not impossible. Disassembling and reassembling the molecules in whatever you zoom around is the hard part, but with all the new laser-based processors…It's feasible."

Xanthos picked up another pork dumpling with his chopsticks and pointed it at Wily. "What about life? I was a weapons merchant, not a scientist…but I recall the thinking back before the Wars was that 'beaming' would never become feasible. Something about you'd kill the lifeform when you beamed it, and it would end up being a copy?"

"Conservation of mass and energy." Light picked up their plates and headed for the sink. In spite of his grabbiness earlier, he disposed of the leftovers without stealing a bite. "Nothing can be lost. It simply changes form. Wily and I theorize that you can get around any problems by making the matter transport stream more of a…well, I guess you might call it a particle sludge. A mixture of energy, with enough molecular fragments being dragged along for the ride that it simplifies the reconstruction and provides a template. Makes it easier for the computers to put everything back together again."

"And you have a working model?" Xanthos pressed.

Light and Wily glanced at each other, then shook their heads. "Not really." Wily finally admitted. "We're still working out the math of it. Designing a functional matter disassembly and reassembly module is going to be a pain in the neck when we get around to it. We've more or less put it on the backburner for now, we get to it when one of us has an idea or gets bored."

"For instance, last week I determined that warp travel will never reach light speed." Wily announced proudly. "It will still be faster than any known transport system on earth, though. We've done a lot better with our new robot."

"I don't suppose we could show it to him?" Light suggested.

Xanthos chuckled. "Oh, you don't have to show me if you don't want to. Given your track record at how people are always trying to corrupt your inventions, I wouldn't…"

"We'll show you." Wily interrupted, ignoring the surprise he got from Light. "I wouldn't trust anyone else but you, Oliver." The mad scientist motioned for Light and Xanthos to follow him, and headed towards the adjoining laboratory.

The air was sterile, the temperature and humidity rigidly controlled. Standing on one of the work stations, Eddie the red Fliptop glanced at the three old men and beeped at them.

"Take it easy, Eddie. This is our friend Oliver." Wily soothed the mechanoid. "You can trust him."

"Most days." Light chuckled. "I don't suppose you have another hidden submarine tucked in some nearby stretch of ocean these days?"

"Unfortunately, no." Oliver laughed. "My more 'questionable' assets were dismantled as a part of my probation at the World Court. No, I'm afraid all that I have left from the old days is my old ship _Socrates_ and the loyal crew who still mans her…Minus all the marvelous hidden defenses it used to have."

"It's a new world, Oliver." Light said optimistically.

"This world isn't new." Wily refuted the claim, and marched to a worktable tilted away from them. "It's just a little emptier and a little more advanced." He turned the table around. "But this is our newest project, Oliver. The first of a new generation of mechanoids…Advanced Robots, you might call them. Robots able to oversee others and coordinate workforces."

Oliver Xanthos peered at the robot lying on the table. It seemed to stand around four and a half feet or so tall, roughly 1.33 meters. The size of a child…and which had the shape of one.

Hair as black as a crow's feathers stood atop its head, and were it not for the open chest panel, the robot would have seemed to be little more than a twelve or thirteen year old boy sleeping without a care. The Grecian philanthropist had to remind himself to blink, and when he did, he looked to Wily. "Can I touch him?"

"Oliver, it's not hu…" Wily caught himself and sighed. "Well, we did give it human form. All right, call it a he."

"So you can change." Light smiled. "Go ahead, Oliver."

Oliver prodded the robot's arm, and felt the pale, flesh-colored covering give slightly. He could feel powerful mechanisms and ligatures underneath, but…

"The skin feels almost real." Oliver said. "Cold. Room temperature, really, but…"

"We call it synthskin." Wily folded his arms. "The key word in your phrase was _almost_. He can't sweat, and it doesn't warm up, but it's a step between rubber and real skin. It looks real enough, and that was the important part."

"So this robot of yours will be smart enough to command other robots?"

"That's the plan." Light took over the explanation. "I've spent more than five years hidden away getting the mechanics of his mind right. We got the idea from Eddie over there. He's always been more curious than most. He learned faster than most, and he does things now far beyond his original programming. Speaking of…Eddie, shoot me a brew!"

Ten feet away, the red fliptop beeped and popped his lid open. He angled his body for the shot, and built up a larger charge of CO2 than normal before releasing it with a large _thwwooooomp_. The canister of sudsy alcohol soared across the laboratory in a parabolic arc, and Light caught it with the ease of practice. He blinked at the label, and held the can up. "_Light_ beer, Eddie? What is this, you telling me I'm getting fat?"

The red robot's goofy and large eyes spun around for a bit before he snapped his lid shut and turned around.

"What, you need somebody telling you that before you realize you've packed on more pounds than a depressed housewife?" Wily snorted. "I'm surprised he didn't fire you a can of green tea. I set him up with some of those too."

Oliver grinned. "Well, at least that hasn't changed. You two still bicker like an old married couple."

"Well, we are old." Light conceded. "How old are we this year, Al?"

"Well, I'm 54 and you'll be that old in a few months." Wily said. "Old enough that if we weren't already the owners and runners of our own company, we'd have trouble finding a new job."

"Good thing that isn't the case, then." Light ruffled the robot's hair. "So what do you think, Oliver? Pretty interesting, isn't it?"

"He looks phenomenal. But why did you make him so human? And why does he look like a child?"

"Psychology." Light answered easily. "We wanted to create a robot that, like the Metools and Eddie, wouldn't be threatening to look at. And people naturally take to children. Well, some a little too much."

"I've told Tom he worries too much." Wily rolled his eyes, and tapped the robot's waist, where a black set of molded underbriefs covered him up. "Our little Advanced robot here isn't "Fully functional" as the old flatscreen programs used to go on about…And more importantly, he's strong enough that any pedophile would get shoved through a wall for trying anything stupid."

"Not that there are many of _those_ left alive these days." Light amended.

"That we know of." Wily finished grimly. "Evil has a way of springing up where it's never wanted." He looked back to Xanthos. "But that's the long and short of it. He's meant to appeal to folks."

Xanthos nodded. "I'll keep my mouth shut. When is he going to be finished?"

"I'd tell you next week, but we've been saying that for three years now." Light shrugged. "We keep coming up with new additions to his form. A rechargeable solar battery for his power supply. The photoreceptive synthskin in place of just a metallic body. A working endoskeleton. HUD capable retinas for his optics. Additional logic software. But he's close, Oliver. No promises, but I think this is the year we'll finally get around to activating him."

"Good." Oliver nodded. "Then maybe you two can come out of these shadows you've been living in and get outside some. So this robot of yours, does it have a name? Something catchy, like your "Metal Tool" Metool?"

"Not exactly." Wily grumbled. "Tom named this one. Against my better judgment, we're keeping it."

"Blues." Light said, tracing the curve of the robot's jaw with reverence. "His name is Blues."

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_April 17__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:14 P.M._

The door to the Site Coordinator's office chimed. Paul Van Hostick blinked once, then rocked forth out of his chair's reclined position. He'd almost dozed off. He swore under his breath and and tried to speak. "Cuh…" He coughed to clear his dry throat. "Come in."

The door slid open, and his visitor poked her head in. Dr. Flora Jane, accredited botanist.

The leader of the Second Rainbow rubbed at his eyes, then nodded to his visitor. "Dr. Jane? What's the occasion?"

"I was going for a walk through the gardens when I noticed your light was on." The botanist replied smoothly. The years had aged her, but she wore her time gracefully. A well-maintained figure was topped off by silver gray hair, plaited and tied behind her head. The wrinkles she had only enhanced her smile. "You shouldn't be working this late."

"Oh, I would love it if I wasn't." Director Van Hostick answered. He settled back in his chair, too tired and too fuzzy to put up the brave, confident front he usually wore. "But I've got too much work for anything but a powernaps these days, to borrow an American expression."

Dr. Jane narrowed her eyes so briefly that it seemed more of a blink. She moved to take a seat in one of his visitor's chairs. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hostick laughed a short, bitter yelp. "I can't."

Jane surmised more from those two words than he would have expected. She folded her arms in her lap and watched him as she spoke. "You're making plans for downsizing, aren't you?"

Hostick's eyes widened a moment before he turned his head, and he realized he'd betrayed his emotions. "How did you know?" He asked hoarsely.

"You're easier to read than Vinkus was as the Site Coordinator. That honesty made you a better leader, I think." Flora waited until he glanced back at her to continue. "Besides, the U.N. and the Second Rainbow is still the hot news these days. I can connect the dots." She paused again, then prodded more gently. "So how bad is it?"

"Nearly every project we have on our agenda currently or marked for the future docket is something that could be considered _beyond our primary objectives_ by those mongrels in the U.N." Hostick admitted. More of his senses returned to him, and he panicked a bit. "But please, promise me you won't…"

Dr. Jane shook her head. "Relax, Paul. I won't spread the news around. Everyone here has enough to worry about." She scratched at her wrist nervously. "But people are starting to talk anyway. It's more than just funding, Paul. The emergency powers, being able to take command of a region and direct their civilian and military assets was what made this group work. SKYLIGHT, the ZOOS restart, the reclamation projects…If those powers get taken away…"

"Then we become just another international agency with no real authority inside national boundaries. And with no real funding." Hostick tapped his desk. "Vinkus is putting up the fight of his life in the General Assembly, but he's waging a losing battle."

"So what do we do?" Jane demanded. "Is there anything we _can _do?"

Hostick shrugged helplessly. "If the Rainbow is forced to operate with reduced funding, we're going to end up scaling back all our projects. It'll get to the point we can't afford to pay our best people, and…" He didn't finish the sentence, but it took care of itself. _Then whether or not we want them to stay, they'll all leave. _

Jane scowled. "Unbelievable. We'll be throwing away everything good we've done. I joined the Rainbow to make an impact, not to leave it and start up my own company, then hold my former associates over a barrel to buy my merchandise!"

Hostick averted his eyes. It was no secret that Ezriah Hyrmue was a sore subject for her. It was largely her fault that Hyrmue had left, made the Treeborgs on his own, and gotten rich off of the idea; a lack of foresight on her part, or just stubbornness. She'd never admitted any fault for it, though, preferring to see him as a gadfly forever causing problems. She wouldn't be pleased to know that her section would be one of the first decimated in the inevitable downsizings. The continued development of all-soil crops just wasn't considered "Reclamation" by the original charter.

"Even our members who've gone on to found profitable companies remain dedicated to our group." Hostick reminded her gently. "LightTech's robots are sold to us at reduced cost, Treeborg Industries makes models to our various specifications and hands out discounts. They donate sizable portions of their profits to various charities around the world." Hostick furrowed his eyebrows. "Maybe…"

"What are you thinking, exactly?" Jane stood up. "That we'll privatize the Second Rainbow? Rely on the charity of those technologically minded opportunists to support our efforts?"

"I have to consider all options." Hostick told her, a little surprised at her combativeness. "This world needs the Rainbow."

"It needs the Rainbow I joined." Jane replied, shaking her head. "I don't know if the Rainbow that will be left after this is the same one I'm proud to be a part of." She nodded one last time, then departed.

Left in the silence of night more disturbed than when he'd been brought out of his stupor, Dr. Van Hostick got up from his chair and looked out the window.

The courtyard of the Second Rainbow Headquarters was disturbingly quiet. There was, as always, a sense of peace and tranquility here that the rest of the world had lost long ago.

He leaned his arm on the window and exhaled, feeling older than his long years.

"Not yet." He said to the courtyard, looking across the way to another arm of the main building, and then to the smaller structures along the walking paths. "Our work isn't done yet."

* * *

_From the Notes of Dr. Albert William Wily_

_I know for a fact that Tom keeps a record of his thoughts and musings. Of course, I don't know what he puts in them precisely, but I surmise that his diary is full of the same dribble I've gotten used to over the years. A diatribe of all his hopes and dreams, and only the occasional worry, fast washed away. There are times I'm jealous of his ability to stay so positive.  
There are times I despise him for it.  
This newest robot of ours...We have made it to look human. Perhaps to act, if not entirely human, close enough to mimic it and pass scrutiny. He considers it a good thing, but that's his blind nature. Like Merlin, he has trouble predicting his own destiny, even as sharp-eyed as he is to the futures of those around him. The literature of our world's troubled past is a mix of ultimate promise and dismal outcomes, and I often pause and wonder which side of that seesaw has gained the greatest tilt.  
The signs are around us, even though he doesn't see them. I wish I didn't see them, but I do. The resentment. Robots saved this world. Our robots. Without technology, without the hard work of those we worked alongside for years and Tom and myself, we would have died out. It is only natural that robots have increased. They could do things that humans couldn't, go where we couldn't. Now, it's cheaper to have a robotic workforce in many industries. No salaries. Minimal downtime. No worker's comp, or union negotiations. A perfect...to pardon the term...human resource.  
Is it right? I can't say. But it's happening regardless, and there's no stopping it. There are some Luddites who would drive us into the dark ages to prevent it from happening. I don't share their enthusiasm, but there is one aspect that does keep me awake at night. The sedentary nature of our frail species.  
It's cheaper for robots to do many of the jobs we once did for ourselves. Easier. And easier is better. That's always been the thinking, the gut reaction of every person who ever walked the planet...Accomplish the most with the least, and profit from it. Right or wrong doesn't enter into it. It never did. So the trend continues, and we profit from it.  
And our robots grow in numbers. So where will we end up then? A world with more robots than humans? A world where our every need is catered to, where we create a modern day culture of an elite ruling class sitting atop the slave labor of the masses? Such a society could not exist for long. It would fall apart.  
Carl Kapek was right, in substance if not in form. Robots will take over this world, because humanity is too shortsighted...too disinterested to notice the problem or move to solve it.  
And how feeble am I, then? I see the problem coming, and yet I do nothing.  
But perhaps...  
...No. No, I am not that kind of man. I would have to be crazy to try. All I can do is make preparations.  
When the world does burn under the weight of its own shortsighted hedonism, it will not take me. Not a second time.  
Were that others could see it coming as well. I won't stop construction on Blues, though. We're so close now. Tom swears we can have him activated in two weeks. I believe him.  
Of all the robots I have ever made...I think I am the proudest of him. Light has given him a brain that will supposedly revolutionize the world of robotic engineering.  
I have given Blues a magnificent body. He is my best work.  
Up to now, Thomas would say. Always bolder and brighter, always looking into the sun, he is.  
He blinds himself to everything around him, looking at the shapes of what might be in the heavens._

_-Dr. Albert William Wily  
April 19th, 2067 C.E._

* * *

_U.S. Robotics_

_Great Lakes Manufacturing Complex, Lake Michigan_

_April 19__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:22 P.M._

For as complex as the manufacturing center was, its security was rather lax around its storage facilities. Much of that had to do with the fact that the storage section of the complex was set in the dry lakebed of what had been Lake Michigan's southern shores, with the fences high up along the outer edge of what had once been shoreline. Only one road allowed access to the facility, and the rest was left as unpaved dirt and gravel, save for slabs of concrete where the product containers lay. Union regulations and a few rather nasty lawsuits had kept the security detail for the corporation's prized jewel as a humans-only affair. Their presence was augmented by security cameras and a few roving camera drones, but the company that produced robots for the sole purpose of combat, suppression, and "Peacekeeping" did not keep an active force of its own products on patrol.

For that reason, when the security car was on the far west side of the sprawled out storage area, slowly driving between triple stacked rows of full cargo containers, the trespassers coming out of the north on a modified electrical dune buggy coasted into the eastern side of the cargo boxes and storage sheds with no more notice than a brief appearance on unattended video cameras.

The quiet vehicle came to a halt next to a massive 150 foot long building. Four figures dressed in black with face-shrouding hoods calmly hopped out of the vehicle and glanced around. HUD visor glasses, an older but still viable technology bought from a military surplus store allowed them to glance around in the darkness while keeping every inch of their face hidden. Silently, three unloaded boxes of supplies while a fourth made his way to the warehouse entrance and sized up the lock.

A wireless fob receiver waited silently by the door handle, waiting to be unlocked. The interior of the structure was dark and quiet; there was no third shift, and the second had clocked out twenty minutes before. The door had an alarm equipped on it to alert illegal entry, but only twenty feet farther around was a large garage door meant for forklifts to offload product out of the warehouse and onto trucks…and a smaller, unlocked door right next to it. A lax security measure that U.S. Robotics had considered unnecessary, given the location, fencing, and access routes.

CEO Steve Wilcox and his team of corporate associates had never predicted trouble would come from miles north of the Chicago facing facility along the drained and dried up Lake Michigan lakebed. That innocent seeming assumption would cost them a great deal this night.

With the fourth showing them the way, the three other passengers of the dune buggy made their way into the warehouse and removed the contents of the boxes they'd brought with them.

Explosives.

With precision and practiced efforts, the four spread the charges around the building at key points; the support beams, the heavy work areas, the main processing lines. The last thing they did was to leave an envelope with a small flash drive in the small warehouse office that jutted out from the side. That room alone would survive the blast, and the flash drive, carefully sanitized and wiped down to prevent any fingerprint or DNA tracing, and with a generic enough model and make to be indistinguishable from hundreds of thousands more around the world, would survive with it. They wanted U.S. Robotics and the police to find it…just not to find them.

All in all, the job took ten minutes. Taking all the cases with them, the four shrouded bombers made their way outside, climbed in their buggy, and drove off back into the darkness north of the plant. They were two miles off when the thunderous explosion and the groaning collapse of metal caught up to them. One of the passengers in the rear chanced a look back, and saw the warehouse collapse in on itself under the light of a nearby floodlamp. He whooped, too far away from the scene to be heard by the now certainly panicking security guards.

"That showed them!"

The driver, who refused to take off his hood or glasses, kept his eyes facing forward and remained more solemn. This was, after all, the first strike back against the machines and those who supported them. Improper revelry would only cheapen their success.

His passenger riding shotgun noticed the quiet body language and turned to glance at the masked figure in the back of the buggy. With the electric engine making almost no noise at all, he barely had to raise his voice to be heard. "The Human Supremacy League has just announced itself to the world. Our war began tonight. Don't ruin it by congratulating yourself until we've been picked up by our chopper."

The formerly exuberant passenger blinked, paled under his mask, and nodded in reply.

As quietly as they had appeared, the four terrorists vanished. It would be forty five minutes before an observant police officer would notice the tire tracks heading north. That lead would be a dead end, though.

Twelve miles north of the U.S. Robotics plant, the tracks ended, with signs of a helicopter landing at their conclusion all too evident from the windblown soil.

* * *

_FBI Branch Headquarters_

_Chicago_

_April 20__th__, 9:43 A.M._

"The Human Supremacy League?" Steve Wilcox, the head of U.S. Robotics was positively seething. Special Agent Franklin Holliday kept a placid expression and nodded.

"Yes, sir. They left behind a flash drive with a recorded message taking credit for the bombing. We're still following through with our investigation."

Steve grumbled low in his throat. "Will you be able to find them and put a bullet in their heads?"

Agent Holliday shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't comment on an ongoing investigation. We're doing what we can."

"Meaning they skunked you, and you don't have a clue."

The FBI agent bristled under the sharp poke. "We have determined that these terrorists are an extremist group which is focused on anti-robot sentiment. They were able to gain access to your storage center because of several weaknesses in your security."

"As I'm learning." Wilcox replied, not backing down. "The flaws in our security policies are being dealt with. I'm not going to let this happen again. Even with insurance, we lost a full two months' worth of outgoing orders in this mess. That's not something I enjoy explaining to shareholders." He got up from his chair. "By any chance, could I get a copy of this "Human Supremacy League's" message? I'd like to know who to burn in effigy tonight."

The FBI agent chuckled. "Somehow, I thought you might." He slid a microdisk across his desk and made sure Wilcox saw his serious expression. "Don't go publicizing this. The last thing we need to give this HSL is air time. It's eyes only, got it?"

"Relax." Steve Wilcox pocketed the disk and headed out of the building. Minutes later, as he was being driven back to the Great Lakes Manufacturing Complex, he removed his holoprojector-equipped datapad and plugged the disk in.

A digitally rendered silhouette of a man was projected a few inches above the datapad's screen, and an equally generated voice spoke.

_**"We are the Human Supremacy League. Tonight, we have struck a blow against robots and those who propagate them with the destruction of U.S. Robotics' storage base by Chicago. This is only the beginning. **_

_** There are some deluded fools who argue that robots saved our world. We know better. It was robots that began World War III, and now they even take our jobs, our livelihoods, while the rich get richer and fatter using robots to perform tasks that was once the domain of the unskilled and skilled laborer. And the robots never go away. There are always more of them. We fight for humanity's sake. The Human Supremacy League will purge the world of robots and make the world safe for our kind. **_

_** Call us terrorists, if you like. We are only terrorists to machines. In time, you will remember us as heroes. The war has begun. Be ready."**_

The recording cut out. Steve leaned back in the limousine's cushion and pressed his fingertips together.

"They're fools if they think they can stop progress."

There was nothing but venom behind his glasses, and he thought of the new "Watcher" security drones that were being deployed with low-intensity lasers for residential patrols.

A minor upgrade to their weapons emitters, and…

"…Dead fools if they ever move against us again."

* * *

_U.N. General Assembly_

_New Amsterdam_

_April 25__th__, 2067 C.E._

Darwin Vinkus was an old soul, and had been for nearly 30 years. Combat, leadership, and experience had turned him into a shrewd and calculating orator. He was a politician in a world where most of the old guard had been eradicated in the 60 percent loss of human life, and preferred a blunt, abrasive, honest approach. Others preferred to be slippery tongued devils, but refrained from spreading the bullshit in his presence, because he'd made a reputation for shattering those that did.

He'd made few friends who weren't in full support of the Second Rainbow's unprecedented, if not benevolent status as a science based overlord, but his enemies…or more appropriately, the Second Rainbow's enemies…had always been too busy staring down their own problems and scandals to mutter more than passing criticism. When that failed, the massive worldwide crises like Epoch, the radioactive fallout and scorched earth, and the now repaired, but formerly destroyed ozone layer, had muzzled the tensions under immediate need and demanded action.

But it was 2067, a full seven years after SKYLIGHT had saved Earth from certain destruction. There were no more Omega Events to rally behind.

There was nothing left to stop the Rainbow's political enemies from unleashing Hell.

Representative Xiao, one of the figureheads behind the charge, spoke with a quiet eloquence and gentility that softened the impact of his words. "Representative Vinkus, you often speak of the Second Rainbow's more ostentatious members; those who have gone on to found very profitable companies from the technologies developed under the Second Rainbow's time and support. Treeborgs, worker robots...All of these took some time to make manifest, yes?"

Vinkus was exhausted. He avoided talking points like the plague usually, but Xiao, and more importantly, Brawlings had come packing them by the gross. He nodded weakly. So far, Xiao was telling the truth.

The Chinese representative went on, not losing a bit of steam. "Since the Second Rainbow is funded entirely from the United Nations' general operations fund, that means that it is our nations footing the bill. Given the tremendous works and accomplishments your institution has done to keep our world intact, I have no reason to take offense with the development of new technologies. I do take issue with their creators "leaving" the Rainbow to build very lucrative private businesses…businesses with which the Second Rainbow enjoys exclusive contracts, in some cases. Were you designing tools of war rather than tools of peace, it would smack of war profiteering. As it is, it is a very thinly veiled coincidence which seems to take the most brilliant minds away from their homelands to first experiment on the public's bankroll, then turn them loose to reap the benefits."

"You're suggesting conspiracy, sir." Vinkus replied. He gave a meaningful glance in Brawling's direction. "Conspiracy involving our members is something that other countries dabble in. Not us." If the American representative caught the barbed remark that referred to Light, and especially Wily, he didn't show it. "Ezriah Hyrmue resigned his post at the Second Rainbow because of conflicts within his own department. It was only after that that the Treeborgs were put into production…something that would not have happened had he remained a member."

"So the Second Rainbow was unnecessary for the development of Treeborgs, then?" Brawlings leapt on his answer like a tiger. Vinkus unleashed an invective inside of his mind. _Walked right into that one. _

"No, the Rainbow was very necessary. Without the collaboration of Hyrmue with other key members of the Rainbow's engineering and biologist staff, his idea would have remained just that. The Rainbow brings the best and brightest together and puts them into a think tank."

"And you just let him go?"

"This is an organization, not a prison." Vinkus answered. "The Second Rainbow employs several hundred members, and more than just scientists."

"You conscript them." Representative Brawlings stepped in. Secretary General Bashwari finally slammed her gavel down.

"Representative Brawlings, you are speaking out of order. The chair has not recognized you at this time."

"I apologize, Madame Secretary." Brawlings waved his hand and fell silent, but the damage had been done. The cue had been given to Xiao.

"The emergency powers of the Second Rainbow were granted to it at a time when we were at the edge of our destruction. Thanks to your group's efforts, for which all nations are grateful, we are no longer in a world on the edge. The autonomy and executive control that was given allowed the Rainbow to access resources of every U.N. member's government, to operate with very little oversight, and to do what needed to be done. This is a new world now, coming out of its dark past. The people want a return to normalcy. My countrymen simply wish to go about their lives, and they cannot do that as long as the Second Rainbow can take what it wishes-our money, our people, our equipment."

"The Second Rainbow does not abuse the powers given to it." Vinkus snapped. "There is no purpose for us to exploit or misuse the trust and faith of the nations of the world who cried out for help. We harbor no national agenda. We act only in the best interests of humanity as a whole. We use our talents and trades to make the world a better place."

"And I am sure that your group will continue to do so." Xiao reassured him. "But I am also sure that the Second Rainbow's mission can continue in a lesser capacity, until such time as its extraordinary powers of intervention are needed again. China wants her scientists back, Representative Vinkus. We want our people back, so they can help China. We want control of what is _ours_ back. It is the right of every nation to guide its own policies, so long as they do not interfere with the well being of its neighbors. Surely, our request is not so unreasonable."

Xiao glanced up to Secretary General Bashwari. "I believe I have said what I need to, Madame Secretary."

The African diplomat nodded. "Very well. Representative Vinkus, before we put the motion to suspend the Second Rainbow's emergency powers and limit its financial support, do you have anything to say?"

"Plenty." Vinkus stood up and looked around the vast assembly hall. "Of course, you all know I'm never at a loss for words, but this time, I'll admit I'm close to not having any that don't involve invectives. I'll try, though." He didn't bother trying to hide the ragged disappointment in his heart, and it caused some in the crowd to stir.

"The Second Rainbow is more than just an international coalition of scientists. It is more than a group who has averted three major Omega Events since its inception, and helped to wash away the poisons of a barren and ruined land. The Second Rainbow is the experiment for a new kind of cooperation; one where international authority finally assumes the helm as the guiding force on our planet. What was made out of desperation and a time of great crisis has proven itself to be _exactly_ what this world needs. From what I've heard from the opposition, their main point is that they're tired of the oversight, and the _international controls_ of their own resources. The fact is that the great nations of the world had the first half of this century to do something positive with the potential and trust that had been given to them, and they blew it. They didn't only just blow it, they blew it up. A competition for resources, greed, avarice never laid aside for political, for religious, for philosophical reasons, were the causes for the seven years of Hell that we endured. Only 40 percent of the world's population survived that chaos. **40. Percent.** I can never shake that number, it's burned into my skull, and it should be burned into all of yours. We all lost friends and family. Those of us that survived found ourselves in a world begging to wake up. Waiting for us to wake up. I like to think that the Second Rainbow did.

Representative Xiao, you like to talk about the inalienable rights of nations to guide their own destiny, to use their resources as they see fit? I would use a page from the Declaration of Independence from Representative Brawlings' own nation. _Whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness."_

Stirrings rose up to that point, and Vinkus pressed on before an incredulous collective could let their sudden panic take hold. "Let's get something straight. The Second Rainbow isn't a government. It is merely a branch of the United Nations, and one that has proven **beyond a doubt** that international cooperation can and will accomplish miracles when it is allowed to work at the pace that events and tragedy demand from it." Vinkus leveled a finger and swept it around the General Assembly. "If you vote for this ludicrous act, you will do more than simply take away the Emergency Powers that made the Second Rainbow so effective, and the funding that allowed us to create wonders. Sustainable food crops, nuclear waste disposal, _fusion power_, antigravity, an orbiting outwards facing defense platform, and countless other advances that makes living possible will be the last major developments we'll see for decades, maybe ever. If you neuter the Second Rainbow with this vote, then you will be throwing away a promising future full of wonder and hope that cannot yet be seen for the quick and shallow reassurances that your nations can be left to their own devices.

"I urge you to vote no to this, because even though you might try to ignore it, you know the outcome of a yes vote. A divided world where ineffective governments squabble and fight and remain of limited outlook will be the only legacy you will give your children, and your children's children. I plead with you, hoping that we have grown and evolved as a species because of our mistakes and those from our predecessors. I have given everything to the promise that the Second Rainbow can truly make a better world, and I want to see it through to the end. I want to see a world where decisions are made not out of fear, or panic, or desperation, but out of hope and thoughtful contemplation. This moment is as critical as when the Canberra Treaty was signed, and I hope you all see it in the same light that I do. Let the promise that we will never again bring destruction upon the earth take hold in your hearts. Let the Second Rainbow guide you."

Vinkus sat down, and Secretary General Bashwari tapped her gavel. "Very well. We will now put Representative Brawling's motion to a vote. Please select yes, no, or undecided at your desks."

In a tribute to the miracles of modern technology, it only took five seconds for the machines to calculate the totals. It would have taken less time, but some of the U.N.'s members took a moment longer than others to deliberate.

A projection of the scores said it all, and Darwin shut his eyes. He couldn't look at it.

Secretary General Bashwari, with the detachment her office required, announced the outcome. "With a vote of 40 nays, 70 yeas, and 44 undecideds, Representative Brawling's measure passes. The Second Rainbow's Emergency Powers are revoked, and its budget will be adjusted on an as needed basis."

Vinkus felt the axe fall, and amidst his disappointment, felt a venom rise up and harden around his heart. It was a stabilizing force that kept him from falling apart, and he clung to it with all he had.

"You damn fools." He whispered.

* * *

_LightTech Industries_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_April 26__th__, 2067 C.E._

_6:27 P.M._

Somebody knocked on the door to the joint office that Wily and Light shared in their company's headquarters. The wild-haired, but balding scientist glanced up and twitched his mustache. "Yes?" He instinctively pulled his hand away from his computer's keyboard, then berated himself for the unnecessary action.

The door opened, and Titus Grant, the ever affable Australian and true friend, stuck his head in. He made a face. "Crikey, you're still here?"

Wily shrugged as Titus stepped inside and closed the door. "I have no life. What else is new?"

"You mean outside of the Second Rainbow being run through the ringer and us having to worry about a robot-killing terrorist group? Not much." Titus motioned to the computer sitting on Wily's desk. "What are you working on, Al?"

"My plans for world domination." Wily deadpanned. Titus rolled his eyes, and Wily laughed sharply. "All right, all right. I'm working on some coding for that project Light and I are doing."

"Ohh ho ho." Titus chortled. He sauntered around the desk for a look, but Wily switched the screen off before he could get close. "Oh, come on. Let your old pal have a peek, eh?"

"Sorry, Titus. I wouldn't show this to my own mother…if she were still alive, that is." Wily patted the top of his flatscreen display. "It's rather sensitive, I'm afraid. But don't worry, I was just about done. I'll be on my way out the door in another half hour, I think."

"You blokes always did work too hard." Titus shook his head. "Made the rest of us look bad by comparison. Still, long as you're here, I did have a question for you."

"Yeah?" Wily clasped his hands together and rested them on his stomach. "What's on your mind?"

Titus pulled a datapad out of his pocket and held it up. "I was looking over the transfer logs for our materials, and I found an irregularity…a pretty hard one not to notice, actually, considering."

"Yes?"

Titus pursed his lips, trying to decide how to put it. He went with the blunt approach. "You've had four transports of robots going out to South America; around Chile, in the Andes. On top of that, we've had requisition orders for fusion capacitors and fuel and several tons of steel, wiring, and other gear going in the same spot. The robot transports were signed off by you. Nobody else even knew they were going out. That's a lot of money and gear going to one place."

Wily nodded. "And I take it you're concerned?"

"Well, it's yours' and Tom's company, but seein' as you put me in charge of running it, I would like to know what exactly you're doing down there. That's Sennet territory, after all." Titus crossed his arms.

"Sennet runs out of Brazil. They don't have a monopoly over the entire continent." Wily reassured his friend. "I can promise you that there's nothing untoward about that. It's nothing you need to worry about. Just…a little insurance policy. Given that we have this HSL terrorist group running around, it might behoove us to have a place set aside for a rainy day." The "Mad scientist" shrugged nonchalantly and smiled again.

Titus remained dubious, and Wily went on. "Titus, Thomas is the dreamer. I'm the realist. Sometimes, not everything I do makes sense right away, hmm?"

The Australian finally relaxed. "You're bonkers, Al, but I've been saying that for years. All right. You've at least accounted for it, so it's not like you were running this off the books. I'd hate trying to cover this up from the shareholders. So when I get asked about all this, what do I call it, anyhow?"

Wily did a five mile stare over Titus's shoulder. "Call it a windfall measure." He offered. "I got the idea from Xanthos. He sacked away entire _factories_' worth of goods, foodstuffs, and materials before the Wars."

"Yeah, and he also sold weapons."

"On that point, you need never worry, my friend." Wily was still well at ease. "LightTech will _never_ sell weapons."

"Or make them." Titus added quickly. He bobbed his head and turned around. "All right then. G'night, mate!"

Still lost in his five mile stare, Wily grunted in reply. He turned the screen of his computer back on before Titus had even shut his door all the way, and did his best to quiet his rattled nerves.

Pointedly, he hadn't agreed with Titus on the Australian's last remark.

The complex algorithmic code of the patented LightTech Core Module stared him in the face, but the converted text for the First Law read differently than Light's mainstay. The compiler reported no errors; the modified version was ready to be used. Tomorrow.

**First Law: A robot may not harm, or through inaction, allow harm to come to a human being.**

_**First Law Addendum: A robot's Creators are to be viewed as "Superior humans", and must always be protected from harm above other humans. **_

"What am I doing?" Wily asked the empty air.

In a world seemingly gone mad, there were no answers to be offered in reply.

* * *

_Sennet Robotics _

_Sao Paulo, Brazil_

_April 25__th__, 2067 C.E. (Same day)_

_7:24 A.M._

Two hours after Wily had finished his conversation with Titus, halfway around the world, another conversation was just beginning.

The tone, though, was a little more serious.

Trenton Corbun was bright-eyed and fully awake. So was his counterpart, Mikhail "Sergei" Cossack, but Sergei retained some qualities of worry in his pose and expression.

"So, Sergei. Do you know why I've called you in here today?"

The Russian's tension boiled down to a hard edge, and he glared back at the founder and leader of Sennet. "If you're going to fire me, just get it over with."

Trenton laughed at that. "Oh no. I apologize, Sergei. You're not here to be fired." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and stifled the rest of his chuckles. "It serves me right for trying to speak like I have an MBA from the University of Bullshitting." Trenton sat up a little straighter. "The fact is, for two years now, you've been our top man in R&D's Sao Paulo branch. You've been employed here at Sennet really since we got started. I brought you in here to offer you a promotion."

The red-haired Russian was stunned. "What would I be doing?"

"Officially, your title would be head of Research and Development." Trenton explained. "Your duties would be exactly the same as they are here in Sao Paulo, but you'd also be overseeing the R&D departments at all our overseas branches. In effect, I want you to take the same talents you've demonstrated here…your foresight, your adaptability, your ingeniousness…and teach others to hone their own to a razor's edge." Trenton smiled. "So, Sergei. Will you do it?"

The estranged son of Second Rainbow icon Yuri Cossack considered the change for a long moment. "You know, my daughter is five months old now. She has been all I've lived for since I lost my wife. If I did this, how could I take care of her? Going from place to place?"

"Whatever you need." Trenton promised him. "If you need a sitter, we'll get you one. You can take her with you, if you like. Your promotion carries a rather hefty raise, as well."

Cossack looked down at his hands. "What she needs, Trenton…what she needs is a home. A home where we are from, not here in Brazil."

"In Russia?" Trenton blinked. "Well, all right. What were you thinking?"

Cossack rubbed at his chin. "My family…we are very proud, you see. We can trace our heritage back to the time of the Russian nobility. There is a castle in Siberia which belonged to an ancestor. Nobody currently inhabits it, but I was told when I was little that it was our family castle. We have just never been rich enough to buy it back."

Trenton smiled again. "You will be now."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_April 27__th__, 2067 C.E._

_8:42 A.M._

Wily was growing impatient. Everything was set to go for their newest creation's first activation, and yet…

"Damnit, Tom, aren't you ready yet?"

The rather bleary and muzzy-faced scientist who Wily called his best friend shook his head, still pouring himself a rather large mug of coffee. "Need caffeine." He mumbled.

Wily rolled his eyes. "What you need to do is stop staying up so late working on these things. _Mein Gott_, I found you slumped at your station with a severe case of Qwerty-itis."

Light didn't answer until he'd pushed a heavy swig of the scalding java down his throat. "I wanted to check his internal power grid. We're running an experimental solar distribution node inside Blues, and even with us making his synthskin photoreceptive, I'm not sure that it'll be enough to sustain his power needs."

"Relax already." Wily sighed. "I checked the numbers myself. His power load shouldn't exceed production values unless we decide to have him start pole vaulting for miles at a stretch. Besides, the solar battery's just temporary until we can figure out how to miniaturize a fusion generator."

"Microfusion generators." Light chuffed. "Right, we're going to outdo Dr. Flynn in his own specialty before he cracks it."

Wily came over and tapped a few shakes of creamer into Light's mug. "Drink your damn coffee already. When you're tired, you sound as cranky as me, and I don't keep you around to be my mirror."

The Santa Claus lookalike pouted for a moment, but followed through on the order. Once his first mug was drained and he'd exhaled a cloud of steam into the air to prevent scalding, Light quickly went for a second cup. "I've been so busy I haven't had a chance to glance over the Core Module. You took care of it, right?"

"Would I have said we were going to activate it this morning if I wasn't ready?" Wily motioned to the human mechanoid's cranium, which was shut and closed. The magnetic seals were locked tight, and thanks to the meshing of its synthflesh, it was impossible to see where the access port was underneath the artificial hair. "I wrote the code myself, checked it, and rechecked it. The module's solid."

"Hm. Good." Light nodded. He could have mentioned that without a stable Core Module, their Advanced Robot's neural network would be compromised, but such a statement would have offended his friend's sensibilities. "Thanks for taking care of that, Will."

"It's not often you leave the brainwork to me." Wily said, smiling under the praise. "It was nice to have a change of pace."

"Well, we can put a stop to that now, I suppose." Light finished off his second mug of coffee as quickly as he had the first, then set the mug aside. "Eddie, are the cameras rolling?"

The red Fliptop made a brief wireless contact with the recording gear inside of their laboratory, then beeped in the affirmative.

Light and Wily took up position on either side of their latest and greatest achievement, with Wily checking the diagnostic monitors that ran from the I/O wires still attached to the robot's right arm and Light readying a datapad for uplink.

"Give me a reading, Al. How's he doing?"

"The power grid's fine, Tom." The wild-haired scientist deadpanned. "So much for your worries."

"Mechanics?"

"Same as they were yesterday. Fine."

"Power flow to his neural network regulated?"

"Oh, _fur Gott's _sake!" Wily groaned. "Just hit the damn activate button!"

"Fine. Fine." Light said petulantly. "Excuse me for trying to build a little suspense into this momentous occasion." He made sure his datapad had a solid link to the laboratory's diagnostics module, then set it to activation mode.

Through the wires still running from the monitoring and control device, the activation signal traveled down the cable and into the robot's arm, passing through its internal relays until it reached the brain.

Nothing happened at first, as all the sounds that came from activation were within the robot's synthskin covered endoskeleton, muffled from hearing. The face twitched for a moment, and the artificial eyebrows arched for a moment before the robot's eyelids slid open for the very first time.

Light leaned overhead and glanced down into its mechanical, but perfectly designed blue eyes. The robot blinked several times as its eyes adjusted to the light of the room and ran through half a dozen activation and setup subroutines. Two seconds after it opened its eyes, it turned its head almost imperceptibly and looked up into Light's face.

In spite of himself, the old man smiled.

"He's awake." Light said quietly.

The robot blinked again, and a command code flashed across its Creator's still connected datapad. **Initial startup successful. Loading language database. Primary language recognized…Processing…Language selection complete.**

"Robot number DL#00 operational." The robot intoned emotionlessly, its vocal processor synching the digitized words with the movements of its lips. His voice was a little deeper in tone than his childish form would seem to offer at first glance. "Designation "Protoman" activated."

"Blues." Light corrected him. The black-haired robot blinked again and focused on Light. "Your name is Blues."

"Nomenclature modification accepted. This unit's name is Blues." The robot glanced away from Light and seemed to blink several more times. Light made a mental note. _Check blink response code; too much when he's thinking._ "M…My…name is Blues." The robot concluded.

"HA!" Light clapped his hands and looked over to Wily. "Would you look at that, Al? Ten seconds after being born, and he's already established a sense of self-identity!"

"Whoop-dee-doo." Wily twirled his index finger in the air. "We were expecting that. Stop getting excited and finish the diagnostic."

"Oh, right, right." Light turned back to Blues, who still lay on the operating table, seemingly content to draw in all his surroundings as his systems finished startup. "Blues, could you please tell me the Laws of Robotics?"

True to form, Blues repeated the three immutable commandments that his Core Module's Asimovian heuristics were based on.

"Well, his logic circuits are solid." Wily grunted. "Okay, Tom. All his systems are in the green. You can go ahead and pull the wires."

Light did so, removing the plugs from Blues' arm and sealing the I/O hatch over his wrist. "All right. Good morning, Blues." He smiled at the robot who seemed more of an adolescent boy than a mechanical being. "How are you feeling?"

"An invalid question." Blues answered, as he reached down and slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. "I cannot compose an answer." With his torso upright, he glanced around the room and took it all in. He lingered over Light and Wily. "Are you my Creators?"

"Yes, that's correct." Light said. "I'm Doctor Thomas Light, and that over there is my friend and your co-Creator, Dr. Albert William Wily."

Blues nodded, storing the names for future reference. "I have finished referencing my memory banks, but there seems to be data missing."

"Missing?" Wily blinked. "Is your language database faulty?"

"Negative. My translation matrix is fully operational, and English has been selected as my primary language."

"Huh." Light stroked at his chin. "Then what's missing?"

"My purpose." Blues said simply.

Light and Wily shared a dubious glance, one which their new robot picked up on immediately. "Have I said something wrong?"

"We were expecting you to exhibit certain unusual characteristics, but…Asking for a purpose is a little beyond what I thought you could do. At least in the first minute of your life." Light thought about it a moment more. "In a sense…well, we didn't make you with a purpose, Blues. We just made you, to see if we could."

"Why is that?" Blues asked.

Wily cleared his throat. "Well…there are mechanoids, normal robots, but you're the first of something new. An Advanced Robot. You have the capability to operate with more intelligence than other robots, and can oversee larger tasks."

"Why?" Blues asked again. Wily let out an exhausted sigh and looked to Tom.

"He's got the questioning skills of a three year old."

"He's only a minute and a half old, give him some time." Light shushed him. "So, for the time being at least, Blues, you have no purpose outside of…well, growing, I suppose. Learning."

Blues contemplated this strange reality he found himself in, then mimicked a nonverbal cue he'd seen from his Creators earlier.

He nodded. "Then I shall have to create my own purpose for existence." It was a simple sentence, but it carried with it a paradigm shift that both Light and Wily picked up on.

Blues had determined he would have to find his own meaning of life.

Light coughed a bit, then motioned to the red Fliptop standing on the counter. "Blues, this is Eddie; the prototype for our EDY "Fliptop" series. You might consider him…family. Eddie, think you could show Blues around the house?"

The small red robot beeped in the affirmative, then sputtered off a line of chirping binary to Blues.

Their newest robot nodded in reply. "It is good to meet you as well, Eddie." Blues pushed himself off of the table, took a moment to steady himself on his legs, then began a hesitant, then more assertive walk. He picked up Eddie off of the counter and set him on the floor, and the two trudged off into the rest of the house.

Light waited until they were out of the room to look at Wily. His friend had that worried expression on again. "Well, we did it. He's a marvel, Al."

"And he's already doing things we didn't expect him to. Like Eddie. Like that Metool on SKYLIGHT." Wily replied uneasily. "Tom, these machines we create take on a life of their own. You know what I'm afraid of, you've known it for years. It might happen with this one."

"What, you think he's going to flip off the deep end and exterminate the human race?" Light guffawed. He gave his friend a consoling pat on the shoulder and turned for the door. "I'm going to go make us some breakfast. As for Blues, just relax. You worry too much."

Wily lingered in the laboratory, unable to shake the sense of unease he felt.

"And you worry too little." The 'mad scientist' answered to the empty air.

* * *

_Northern India_

_Lower Himalayan Glacial Reservoir_

_May 12__th__, 2067 C.E._

_10:42 A.M._

"Of all the times for the Rainbow to drag me out of my frozen paradise." Dr. Seymour Froid coughed. Time hadn't treated the water purification specialist at all well, and most of that came from spending his twilight years at the processing center on Antarctica. In spite of the warmer climes, he was battling off a cold which he blamed entirely on being around too many people.

The Glacial Reservoir was a much smaller facility, in terms of production capacity for potable water, than his own New Shirewick plant. To make matters worse, the startup had stalled when news of the Rainbow's downgrade was made official.

The project leader, Deenabandhu Vandhulijet, or simply "Dean" as most of the foreigners knew him as, was more than a little flustered. "We cannot make this operational without assistance from the Second Rainbow!"

Froid shook his head. "Wish I could tell you some good news, Dean. I brought what equipment I could spare, but…I didn't know it was this bad. You don't even have the new TIMOR filter packs."

"So what do we do?" Dean asked. "If the Second Rainbow cannot help us with this, what are we to do?"

Froid rubbed at his chin. "Well…I suppose I could give Thomas Light a call. He might have a few ideas."

"**The** Doctor Light?" Dean repeated. "You know him?"

Froid coughed and reached for a kleenex. "Yes, I know him. I knew his parents quite well, actually. First time I laid eyes on him, he was just this precocious little ten year old who parroted curse words in Spanish, French, and German. Even in an unofficial capacity, he should have some robots to spare. You know they make Metools now for underwater operations?"

Deenabandhu frowned. "Robots? You think that is the solution?"

"What, you don't think they'd come in handy?"

"We need raw materials. We need filtration technology. We need expertise and logistics, and robots can give us none of those." Dean was exasperated. "And what of the self-ionizing pipes to prevent buildup and rust? Duracrete?"

Froid was at a loss for words. "I don't know what to tell you." He admitted quietly. "All right, so robots aren't what you need. You need resources, and those cost money. There are a few people who'd be willing to put up the cash that I know of, if…"

"We do not want sympathy or a handout." Dean snapped. "You know us better than that, Dr. Froid."

The old man dug out a kleenex and got it to his mouth before he coughed again. The irate look on Dean's face lessened off. "Are you all right?"

"Just a bad cold." Froid answered weakly. "All right. You're right, handouts aren't an option. Let me call the HQ in Alaska, see if there's anything we can do."

Froid dug out his phone and dialed up Director Hostick's number. A few rings later, the other end picked up.

_"Hostick. Is that you, Seymour?" _

"Right as ever. You must love that Caller ID."

_"Took them long enough to put it in. I was just about to head out of here for the night." _It took Froid a moment to remember that Alaska was 14 hours behind him now. _"What can I do for you?"_

"I'm at the Glacial Reservoir in India. Look, I know we're reeling from the budget cuts, but I was wondering if we could spare some resources. They're hurting here. They could really use some of those new filter packs we came up with last December, and…"

_"Seymour, I'm afraid we can't." _Director Van Hostick cut him off. _"As a matter of fact, we just finished negotiations with the Indian government not more than an hour ago. Since we don't have the resources to finish construction on the Reservoir, they'll be taking over the construction and maintenance of it. That project is no longer under Second Rainbow control."_

"What?" Froid almost started coughing again at that. "But the Reservoir was meant for several countries in the area! Not just India, but Pakistan, and…"

_"It's just not going to work out that way. I'm sorry, Seymour. Pack up your things and mobilize out. I want you back here in Alaska as soon as possible; there's reports that your health is suffering, and I don't want to lose you."_

"I can't leave it like this, it isn't…"

_"Doctor, we're done." _Hostick went suddenly grim on him. _"Get home. We'll be expecting you." _

The line died, and Froid stared at his phone, wondering if it had somehow connected to an alternate plane of existence.

Deenabandhu's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Something unexpected has happened…hasn't it?"

Froid put his phone away. "I'm afraid so, Dean. I'm not sure what to make of it, but it seems that your government's been given sole ownership of this site." Froid looked to his friend, doing his best not to seem bitter. "What was meant for six countries and international support is going to have to settle for being used by only one."

Dean blinked. "You're not serious."

Froid offered a smile that had no true happiness in it. "I'm afraid I am."

* * *

_SRHQ_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_May 14__th__, 2067 C.E._

_8:20 A.M._

"You could have given me some better news to go with my coffee." Vinkus told Director Van Hostick. The two leaders of the Second Rainbow sat in the cafeteria, which was far emptier than either could ever remember it being before. The cutbacks had set a psychological effect in play, and most of the Rainbow scientists on site had begun sleeping in later and later.

It was just as well, Vinkus thought after another sip of java. None of them needed to hear the blow by blow of the six other projects that had been quietly passed on to national, rather than impartial international, interests.

"If I had better news, I would have given it to you." The Norwegian sighed. "I feel as if I'm in charge of a sinking ship, Darwin. The world still needs us, but it's bound and determined to wander off and fall into the same pattern of mistakes. Or at least, the United Nations is."

"I don't like it myself." Vinkus replied. "The Treaty of Canberra gave the U.N. almost total autonomy to fundamentally change the world order. We saved the world from humanity's follies, but we haven't saved ourselves. It's like they're teenagers, disregarding every good piece of advice offered to them."

"Have we helped matters at all, do you think?" Paul asked wearily. The two tired gentlemen looked at each other, and Darwin thought for a moment.

"We've helped, Paul. We've done a lot of good. We just didn't do enough."

"How many more technological developments would we have needed to…"

"I'm not talking technology." Vinkus cut Van Hostick off sharply. "I'm speaking of governmental reorganizations, a fundamental shift in leadership. Those who have the power to make a difference should exercise it, yes? Well, we had our opportunity. With our clout, we could have dashed away every impure element and made a stronger, unified consensus for governance. No more infighting, no more factionalizing."

"Yes, we could have done all that." Hostick admitted. "But then we would run the risk of becoming that which we despised most at the outset; governments more interested in their own preservation than making a difference. The Second Rainbow is a group of thinkers from all walks, dedicated to building a better world. Our mission kept us pure. It kept us whole."

Vinkus glanced off to the side. "It did." He said. "For a time. But impure elements have arisen, and we didn't check them when we had the opportunity."

"You're speaking of the new technologies we've developed? About how some of our members seem to think that just throwing technology at problems is the only solution? I've heard others mention in passing they don't agree with them either."

"I'm not a Luddite, Paul. I have nothing against technology, as long as it exists for the purpose of supporting…and not suborning…humanity." Vinkus set his cup down on the cafeteria table. "There are many in the Rainbow who are members in name only these days. All of those 'weekend members' are engineers who've built fortunes off of their gadgets and moved on."

"Hyrmue, you mean."

"And Light and Wily, to name two others." Vinkus rubbed at his left eye, digging for a fleck of sleep that hadn't moved away. "There are more, though. More every day. I fought tooth and nail to preserve the Second Rainbow in the general assembly, Paul, and in the end, I failed to. But now, sitting here? I find myself echoing your sentiments."

Vinkus took another look around the quiet cafeteria, and a sad bitterness filled him again.

"I feel as though the Rainbow's already fallen apart around me."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_May 15__th__, 2067 C.E._

_7:32 P.M._

With mechanical, but relaxed precision, Blues stirred the spoon through the skillet of scrambled eggs, lifting the lumps out of the mixture to allow the still gooey parts to meet the pan's surface and cook down. Standing beside him, Light buttered a stack of toast and smiled at the sight. "That's some good work there, Blues."

The raven-haired robot glanced up from his work and looked to his creator, offering a mirrored smile. It had taken Blues several days to learn how to mimic basic human facial expressions, but the result was well worth it. "Eggs seem very forgiving as a protein source. Those steaks last night were not as easy."

"So you burned some cow." Light shrugged. "It's not your fault that Will prefers his meat rare to the point of freshly butchered. He talks about how it enhances the taste, but some days all I can taste is the iron from the blood that seeps out of it."

"Will." Blues repeated. "His name is Dr. Albert Wily, but you call him Will sometimes, short for his middle name. Do you do that out of a sense of familiarity, doctor?"

"Well, Blues, humans do that sometimes, give different names to people they know very well, like good friends or family members. We call them nicknames. We gave you one when you were activated."

Blues blinked. "My name is a nickname? Then…Protoman was my real name?"

"It was your designation." Light explained. "Doctor Light experimental robot Number double zero, Protoman. Blues is technically your nickname, but I like to think that it's your true name. It's the one I gave you, after all."

"You gave me both names, though."

Light rolled his eyes. "Right. I'm probably confusing you. Hell, I confuse Eddie all the time."

Blues thought about it for a while longer. "Should I give you a nickname, then?"

"Me?" Light searched the calm expression of his newest robot. "You want to give me a nickname?"

Blues nodded. "Since you are my creator…perhaps I should call you father."

Light's eyes widened. _"Outou-san?"_ He repeated in Japanese.

Blues didn't look away. "Or is that inappropriate?"

"Well, it's unusual…" Light admitted quickly. He thought about it for a moment longer, then chuckled. "But, what the Hell. Why not? It couldn't hurt anything. I made you, after all."

Blues turned back to the skillet and stirred the eggs again. "Another suitable nickname might be "Doc", short for your title. I could use it for Dr. Wily as well."

"Right." Light kept buttering his toast. "Doc could work, I suppose. Now remember; you want the eggs solid, but not browned."

"Affirmative." Blues stirred the scrambled eggs one last time, then lifted the skillet from the heating element. "They're done, Doctor Light."

"Good, I've got these finished up as well." Light picked up his stack of fully half a loaf of bread and walked over to the table. "Hey, Al! Grub's on!"

Blues glanced at the stack of toast and shook his head. "That portion constitutes several servings, Doctor. I feel obligated to remind you that such eating habits are unhealthy."

"Woah, woah woah." Light held up a hand. "You been talking to Eddie a lot lately?"

"He did mention that you frequently ignored his advice in the past, yes."

"That's because it's none of his business." Light explained. He tapped his spoon on the table. "The fact is, I'm not a young man, Blues. I gave up smoking, and Wily and I spend more time working than we do eating. So if we gorge, it's not the end of the world. Humans don't make sense sometimes, but believe me, whatever I shove down my gullet is not done to make you go into Mind Freeze over a First Law violation. If I put a gun to my head, I'd hope you'd stop me." Light picked up a piece of toast and tapped his nose. "This isn't exactly a deadly weapon, all right?"

Blues struggled through the calculations for a few moments more before he let go of the thought and nodded. "Very well. But I would advise against another "Fiesta Night" regardless. Dr. Wily did not seem to handle the mix of margaritas and _salsa con queso_ very well."

"Well, you'll have to bring that up with him when he shows up." Light and Blues glanced up as Wily meandered through the kitchen doorway, looking even more haggard than usual. His hair was stuck up at odd angles, and he barely looked at them before he grunted and sat down.

"Speak of the devil." Light chuckled. "How you feeling this morning, Will?"

"The toilet's stopped up again." Wily said in reply. He looked up to Blues and sighed. "See about unclogging it this morning, would you?"

Blues blinked at the statement. "Isn't it clogged because you…"

"Just…Just fix it." Wily cut him off tersely. "And then we have your weekly diagnostic to do this afternoon."

"I'll make a note of it." Blues deadpanned. He moved away from the table and headed towards the bathroom, required by the Second Law to follow the order.

Wily poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip of it before he realized that Light was staring at him. "What?"

"You know, you could have asked him nicely to take care of the clog caused by your leavings."

"Now why would I do that?" Wily countered. He grabbed a few slices of toast and scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate. "He's just a robot, Tom. He doesn't have any feelings, even if you do have him smiling to mimic us."

"Al, I get the feeling that he's capable of a lot more than we think he is."

"Oh, be serious. He's more advanced than our other robots, but let's face facts here. He'll never have a sense of joy." Wily chewed on his breakfast for a moment and swallowed. "Good eggs, Tom. Fluffier than usual."

"Thanks, I'll pass that along." Light said with a dry smile. "Blues made them."

Wily paused, and seemed nearly ready to cough up his breakfast. He finally made a face and continued on. "Well, whatever." The roboticist harrumphed. "Oh, that reminds me. Xanthos called the other day; seems that the Second Rainbow's starting to hurt for funding."

"You think we should pitch in?" Light asked.

Wily twirled the end of his mustache. "Maybe. For right now, I was thinking of us making a trip back to the SRHQ. We haven't been back there in close to three years…Virtual non-entities, the two of us."

Light slathered strawberry jam on his toast. "Well, it wouldn't do to have us looking like permanent hermits, now would it? When were you thinking of going?"

"Next week, if we can manage it."

"As if we had any pressing engagements?" Light chortled. He took a bite of his toast and chewed only a few times before swallowing it down. "All right. I'm sure Director Hostick would welcome the help. Hell, we could call up Hyrmue, start a collection."

"It makes sense." Wily nodded. "We helped rebuild the world, and made a successful company building robots that helped us do it. It only makes sense to turn some of those profits back into fueling the endeavors of others."

"We should tell him about our Advanced Robot project, don't you think?" Light went on, thinking ahead now. "I mean, with Blues as a model, imagine the potential!"

"Or the damage?" Wily quipped. He rubbed at his chin for a moment. "We shouldn't tell him about Blues. We'll just say that we've been busy on a new project that's still unfinished."

"You want us to lie?"

"No." Wily quickly reassured his friend. "We just won't tell him everything. With the HSL running around and causing problems, it'd be best to have some of our work kept secret."

Light sucked on his lower lip. "I don't know, Al. I'm not sure if I like it."

Wily managed a cold stare. "Tom, for once, I'm asking you to listen to me and trust me. All right?"

The two looked at each other for several long moments. Light finally blinked. "Do you know something I don't, Al?"

"I know that there are a lot of disappointed people back at the Rainbow who are looking for someone to blame for the way things turned out. I'd prefer that we not act as the flashpoint."

"We're just trying to make the world a better place. What could people see wrong in that?"

Wily looked away. "All these years, and you still ask me that. The world's misused everything we gave them…the Kewbees, SKYLIGHT's plasma cannon, a chance at a better future."

"No, a few people misused them." Light reminded his friend. "A few rotten apples don't spoil the barrel."

"Really?" Wily snapped. "Then why is it that people like Dran Grevis or Steve Wilcox survived when so many others didn't? Why is it Vanessa and your friends died, and my entire department was slaughtered? The rotten apples are the ones that don't disappear from the barrel…you kill one, and another takes its place." Wily hadn't been this agitated in a long time, and the venom he spat out made Light wonder what exactly was running through his friend's mind. 15 years after it had happened, the memory of Wily putting the gun to Grevis's head and pulling the trigger still chilled his spine. Wily raged on. "Everything we've done…They're destroying what we've _bled_ to give them. We should have let the world burn."

"You don't mean that." Light said shakily. "Al, you're not…You can't be serious."

As quickly as it had appeared, the rage on Wily's face vanished, replaced by the weariness of a man who had finally let age and wisdom temper his fire. He pushed his plate away from him and shut his eyes. "I'm just tired, Tom. I'm tired of feeling like we always come up short."

"Blues is a chance for us to make a real difference. You just have to believe and hope that our work will pay off."

Wily stared out their kitchen window, doing his best to draw solace from a blue sky that peered through the canopy of the Treeborg woods. Plants they had helped develop.

A sky they had repaired.

A world that still spun around the sun.

"I've never been one to take things on blind faith. Even trust…doesn't come easy." Wily gestured.

"You always trusted me, though." Light argued. "Was it because of how smart I was? Because we were both scientists? Because we both wanted to leave our mark on the world?"

Wily picked up a piece of toast and tapped it on the edge of his plate. "No. I trusted you, Tom…Because you were…" His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"I was what?" Light demanded. "Naïve? Kindhearted? An optimist?"

"You were different." Wily finished, narrowing his eyes. The mad scientist went back to his toast and eggs, and Light kept eating soon afterwards.

In the silence, Light remembered a phrase he'd found himself repeating many times since they began work on the Advanced robot project all those years before.

_And different could be good._

* * *

_U.S. Robotics Western Distribution Center_

_Silicon Valley, California_

_May 24__th__, 2067 C.E._

_1:48 P.M._

The head of U.S. Robotics, surrounded by both human and robotic security guards, patrolled the carnage of the previous night's failed HSL raid. Police tape was still stretched up and about, but they hadn't yet moved the bodies or cleaned up the blood. The authorities had spent the morning taking witness statements, making copies of security footage, and downloading memory caches from the on-site robots.

It served Stephen Wilcox perfectly. He walked through the mess of the terrorist corpses with a satisfied smile, hands tucked in the pockets of his sport coat.

"All right, what was the final report on this?"

Walking to his left and two steps behind, his assistant accessed the police report on the skirmish. "At approximately 3:32 in the morning, a Human Supremacy League raiding party made their way across the countryside via ATV until they reached the outer security fencing at the center's eastern side. We believe they were trying to take advantage of that section's lack of roads and patrols. Local law enforcement, working in tandem with the FBI, confirmed their affiliation through clothing and markings."

_Leaguers._ Wilcox thought to himself with another smile. _It's nice they see themselves as an army protecting humanity. Makes it easier to see them coming…or pick them out of a corpse pile afterwards. _He walked by another HSL body, and made quick notations about the smoking holes in the clothing over the middle-aged fellow's torso. The targeting program could use some more work.

"Very well. And our new "Watcher" patrol drones caught them?"

"That's correct, sir." His assistant went on. "Pressure sensitive switches along the eastern perimeter detected the anomaly, and a task force of three watcher drones were dispatched to investigate. Upon arriving at the scene, the watchers began taking fire from the terrorists and radioed for additional assistance. Of the twelve HSL members on site, two were dispatched by the drones before reinforcements arrived. The heavy strike unit of six MR-2s was able to finish off the survivors while sustaining only minimal damage. Authorities were alerted at the same time as the MR-2s were called for, and local law enforcement confirmed that the HSL militants were carrying explosives."

"Well, I would call our new security protocols a success then, wouldn't you?" Wilcox chuckled. He paused next to another corpse, which was barely recognizable. A barrage of laserfire had burned three gaping holes through its skull; forehead, nose, and jaw. It seemed the MR-2 targeting array was functioning exactly as planned. The Joint Chiefs would be pleased to hear that, considering they'd just placed an order for an additional 400 of the high-end combat models. "Nothing but good news this morning. I'm very glad we flew out here to see it."

A camera crew, which had been filming the bloody aftermath for its story on the failed HSL raid, came walking up towards Wilcox's procession.

"Mr. Wilcox! Mr. Wilcox, sir, could we have you say a few words?" The reporter, a somewhat attractive brunette in her early twenties had her microphone shoved out in front of her as she walked up.

The security guards, the human ones, quickly moved to block off access, but Steve waved them off. "No, no. It's all right. I always have time for members of the Fourth Estate." He smiled at the reporter, and noticed that her blush wasn't entirely based on him praising her career. "Go ahead, miss…?"

"Diana Daley, Continental News." Miss Daley glanced back to her cameraman for confirmation, then held her microphone out in front of Steve Wilcox. The head of U.S. Robotics noticed she was wearing a smaller headset microphone, allowing her to keep the larger unit next to him. "President Wilcox, this carnage on your company's grounds is very grisly, to say the least. Why weren't more nonlethal methods of security used?"

"First of all, Diana, it's important to remember that these so-called "Protectors of Humanity" are little more than radical terrorists who are clearly willing to use whatever means necessary to pursue their goals. The police found explosives on their bodies; explosives that would have been used to damage my company's facilities, our products, and possibly our personnel as well." Steve made it a point to look morally outraged as he kept staring at her; it was a rookie mistake to glance at the camera. "Now I don't know about you, but I don't feel that criminals willing to bomb places and risk human lives deserve much sympathy."

"Even so, President Wilcox, the HSL has produced no human casualties since they first appeared earlier this year. That would seem to be keeping in line with their motto of protecting humanity against a 'growing technological menace.'"

"Perhaps no casualties in terms of a body count, Diana, but make no mistake, their actions adversely affect the lives of all humans living in this country and around the world." Steve didn't skip a beat. "Jobs have been lost because of their brash and blatant acts of violent destruction. Jobs which belonged to men and women in my company which had families to support, and who now have been forced to look for employment elsewhere. No, I believe that the security robots we keep on site acted in full accordance with the law, and with our best interests in mind; our being not only this company's, but humanity's as well." Steve slipped on a serious expression. "This morning, we sent the Human Supremacy League a message that we can only hope they receive and take seriously. If you move to vandalize, wreck, or destroy the products, buildings, and jobs that this company uses and provides, then you will be met with deadly force, as they were last night. U.S. Robotics does not approve of mindless violence, and does not endorse it. The security patrols dispatched fired only in self-defense; they were fired upon first."

Miss Daley nodded. "I have one last question for you, sir. Do you feel that your company's policy of creating robots that function without the guiding influence of the LightTech Core Module is a wise decision, given the dark history of military robots, such as the GAIDNs? Many people, even those not in the HSL, believe that creating warbots is the first step towards a new apocalypse."

"Our robots may not function under the same controlling Asimovian Heuristics as a Core Module equipped robot does, but they are programmed to follow orders, and to use only as much force as is required." Steve Wilcox was careful in measuring his answer. "It is impossible for our products to 'run amok', as many fear might happen. U.S. Robotics is committed as ever to our consumers, and to the goals which we were founded on. I can guarantee you we serve a more useful purpose than these terrorists who were stopped today." He glanced around, then nodded to the reporter. "I'm sorry, that's all the questions I'll take for today."

"Thank you, President Wilcox." The reporter waited a few seconds until her cameraman lowered his recorder down and nodded. She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you for the interview. We took some footage of the aftermath, but I'm not sure how much of it is fit for broadcast. We still have standards and practices, after all."

Steve Wilcox pointedly stared at the side of her head, and Diana Daley smiled and pulled her headset off. It had still been recording.

"Can't get anything by you, can I?"

"Anything else you want to talk about is strictly off the record, and not for recording." Wilcox replied easily.

Diana handed over her microphones to her cameraman. "Go on ahead to the truck, I'll catch up."

The cameraman dashed off, and Steve motioned for the reporter to follow him. His security guards closed in around them.

"Yes, this is a rather gruesome sight, I'll give you that." Wilcox began, at ease without a camera in his face. "It could have been worse if these terrorists hadn't been dispatched."

"You're a hard man to read, Mr. Wilcox."

"Call me Steve, Diana. And how so?"

"Your company builds war machines, and makes its profits by proliferating a new arms race. I have trouble telling if you're just another businessman or a coldhearted weapons merchant."

"Are gun manufacturers responsible if someone takes an item of their make and holds up a store?" Wilcox countered. "No, your first guess is more correct. I'm simply a businessman, Miss Daley. If U.S. Robotics wasn't producing combat capable mechanoids, then someone else would. As much as I wish it wasn't true, humanity seems to have a need for conflict. As long as that exists, I've made it my goal to minimize human casualties as much as possible. If those in charge of our nations insist on rebuilding their militaries, then my obligation is to eliminate human suffering."

"But isn't it human suffering which makes us stop warring?" The reporter countered.

Steve Wilcox smiled and shook his head. "If that were true, Miss Daley, I wouldn't have a job. No, short memories and greed are what guide us. At least our leaders."

The reporter stared hard at him. "What kind of man are you, exactly?"

"One who knows what he wants, and how to get it." Steve glanced up at the morning sky for a moment, then flashed on the charm again. "Speaking of what I want, I'd like to meet you for dinner sometime this week, Diana. If you could break away from your cameras and notebooks again."

"I take it dinner wouldn't be for the purposes of another interview?"

Chuckling, Steve Wilcox led her further into the complex. "Well, if you'd like, I think we can give you a tour. We'll start at my office. It has a very nice couch…"

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_May 25__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:43 A.M._

There weren't that many members of the Second Rainbow who had been buried at the SRHQ. Rebecca June, the first Site Coordinator had been one, as had Schroeder Dunlap.

Not many of them had needed to be interred here, though the way things were going, it would begin to happen at an increased pace. The members of the Rainbow were all getting older.

The burial of Seymour Froid, renowned water purification specialist, saw many people in attendance. He'd been a friend to everyone he knew, someone who had no rivals or naysayers. At the beginning, when Antarctica had literally been the only major source of potable freshwater on a wartorn world, the elder Dr. Froid had worked tirelessly to make the New Shirewick facility a shining beacon of hope in the frozen tundra.

Spring in southern Alaska was paradoxically agreeable, especially with June only a week away. The reception following the burial had been set up outside, and platters of various ethnic cuisines, reflective of the Rainbow's diversity, covered three long banquet tables. As with any other social occasion, the scientists and engineers of the Second Rainbow had split up into small groups, talking to each other, relating old stories, occasionally sharing a laugh or a well-placed sniffle.

Underneath it though, there was a tension that nobody addressed. It wasn't immediately obvious; an errant glance from one circle to another which was done without a smile, a conversation that became muted when someone a small group was discussing approached or passed by. Some noticed it on a small scale, but nobody saw the bigger picture.

Nobody, save for Darwin Vinkus, who calmly stood over by the punchbowl behind a new pair of glasses and a practiced inscrutable gaze. Whatever he thought of it, he kept it to himself, even when Director Van Hostick went to speak with him.

In the middle of the assembly, Doctor Light and Doctor Wily stood with Seymour's son, Cedric Froid. Titus Grant, Ezriah Hyrmue, and Oliver Xanthos were mixed with them as well. Unlike his father, Cedric had gone into the field of psychology, and ran his own practice back in the States.

"I thought you did a good job with the eulogy, Ced." Thomas Light complimented the man. "Your old man would have been proud."

"Hell, Tom, you could have given that speech just as well as I could have." Cedric countered. "You were the closest thing we had to family."

"Was he now?" Wily prodded good-naturedly. "And why is that?"

"His dad knew my parents back when I was a kid in Indiana." Light explained. "Cedric and I actually spent some time playing video games back when they'd have card parties."

"Another lifetime ago." Cedric agreed whimsically. "I wish I could stay longer. I feel guilty that I wasn't able to be here when…"

"Your dad was just old, Ced." Light consoled his friend. "Hell, none of us are getting any younger here, and you have a family even."

"He didn't die alone, Dr. Froid." Oliver added. "Even when the influenza wore down the last of his strength, he was surrounded by those who called him friend, who he'd worked with." Oliver rubbed above his eye. "He smiled when he went."

"At least he had that." Cedric breathed. "He loved this organization. He loved all of you."

"I had the pleasure of installing the palm style Treeborgs down in New Shirewick." Hyrmue mentioned. "He always did get a kick out of looking out the window of his building and seeing a tree growing in the ice."

"Froid never had an enemy in the world." Titus chirped in cheerfully. "He was a good man to know. I'm glad to know his boy's got the same spirit he did."

"Well, he had to give me something besides his good looks, right?" Cedric pulled in Light for a hug. "It was good seeing you again. Someday soon, I promise I'll bring the family for a visit. I'd like to see this laboratory of yours, after all."

"I'll give you the grand tour." Light finished.

Wily scanned the reception, and couldn't help the slight narrowing of his eyes that came along with seeing someone he didn't enjoy. "Well, well. We've got company coming, fellows."

A small group of Rainbow scientists was approaching their circle. The faces that Light and Wily recognized were Paul Beskin, Flora Jane, and Azad Saladin; Meteorology, Botany, and Geology. It was almost humorous how the names took secondary importance to their specialties.

"Company." Hyrmue muttered. "Somehow, they don't seem very friendly at the moment." It was no secret that Hyrmue and Dr. Jane had never patched up the bridges from the fallout that followed the development of Treeborgs.

The two groups faced each other, and Dr. Beskin made the first move. He stepped forward and nodded respectfully to the surviving Froid. "Your father was a good man, Cedric. You have my condolences."

"Thank you." Cedric bowed his head slightly. "He went out the way he would have wanted to…working."

Beskin pursed his lips together. "Yes. Working for the betterment of humanity." He glanced around the small circle, and let his gaze linger over Light, Wily, and Hyrmue. "I wish others were as equally magnanimous with their talents."

Wily's face darkened, but had the good sense to say nothing. That clearly wasn't what Beskin wanted, though. He pushed on. "Tom, Albert. Titus. How are things in the robot business these days? Thriving, I imagine? Or has the HSL been cutting into your profits with their bombings?"

"We do well enough." Light said with a measured tone. "Today, though, we're not thinking about robots. Just old friends."

"Indeed, I was surprised that you three were even able to find the time to come all the way back out here to Alaska." Beskin said. "You've been so busy for the last seven years, we've hardly seen hide nor hair of you. I'd almost begun to think you'd died off."

"All evidence to the contrary, unfortunately." Wily cut in coldly. He folded his arms. "If you'll excuse us, Paul, we were having a discussion with Cedric here before you cut in."

Paul brushed his hair back, seeming to goad the balding, yet wild-haired roboticist on with the gesture. "Well, I apologize, _Doctor_ Wily, but I and the others here have as much right to pass on our well wishes to Dr. Froid here as you do. Considering how little respect you seem to have for this institution, Albert, I would hope you could respect that."

Wily's face went red, and he snorted. Titus, tired of the conversation, took the bait, and stepped up until his nose was only inches from Beskin's. "Look, mate, you're being a right priggish ass, and I think you could do everyone a favor by just turning around and walkin' off, hear?"

Beskin didn't budge. "Get out of my way, Grant." The scientist said without blinking. "My fight isn't with you."

"Why do you need a fight?" Light demanded. "What's there to fight _about?_ Is this respectful to Seymour, what you're trying to start here?"

"What _**I'm**_ trying to start?" Beskin snapped back angrily. He said it loudly enough that the other conversations around them began to dwindle off, and eyes turned to watch them. "You abandoned us! All the good you could have done, and you tossed it away to start a company and get rich. The American dream, right? Greed?! All you do anymore is hide in Japan and make your damn robots. I should have known better to think that you could ever change, Wily. You dragged Light down with you, and he's just as self-serving as you a..."

Titus slammed his fist hard into the ranting scientist's nose, and the cartilage cracked under his knuckles. Paul stumbled backwards, lost in pain, and the Australian snarled. "You got no right talkin' to anybody like that, you stupid…!"

**"ENOUGH!"** Xanthos screamed over the brawl. The billionaire's voice, so rarely heard so loudly, carried tremendous weight in that angry cry. Every soul, if it hadn't been looking at the scene before, did so at his beckoning roar. The Grecian pushed on, even as Paul held a hand to his smashed face to control the bleeding. "Look at yourselves! You were supposed to be the best this planet had to offer! We've saved this world three times over, and more besides! For God's sake, what good does fighting like this accomplish? Nothing! What would Seymour think if he looked down and saw this happening, saw people he worked with, called friend, tearing each other apart over nothing but hurt feelings?!"

"This, coming from a weapons merchant?" Dr. Jane tossed out cynically. "Of course you'd defend the ironmongers. You were one yourself, and probably still are. Is this where your miraculous technology has brought us?"

"You forget, Dr. Jane, it was the technology you dismissed out of your own flawed perceptions that rebuilt the ozone layer." Hyrmue cut in, his voice thick with venom. "You cannot condemn that which is responsible for saving your life, and the life of everyone else."

"I condemn it." Jane said, pointing a finger at him. "It's because of you and everyone else who made technology so easy that the Second Rainbow is just an empty shell of itself! I lay Seymour Froid's death on ALL your heads! He died traveling abroad to help others, and his heart broke when he realized how he could do **nothing!**"

Jane stormed off, with the wounded Beskin and a scowling Saladin following after her. The rest of the audience at the reception watched for a few moments more, then went back to their own conversations in hushed, but more fervent whispers.

Breathing heavily, Titus straightened up and uncurled his fists. He glanced back to the others and shook his head. "Sorry, mates. Couldn't help myself. I should've punched her too."

"I'm glad you didn't." Light told his friend. "You're better than that, even if she isn't."

"Yeah, she always could be a right awful bitch." Hyrmue muttered. "Makes me glad I got out when I did all over again, it does."

"Is…is it true, though?" Cedric Froid asked shakily, looking around the circle of old men, all of them heavily invested in the technologies that had dug a deep grip into the world's foundations. "Did the Rainbow lose its strength because technology made the problems of the world seem too easy and unimportant?"

"No." Xanthos shook his head firmly. "No. Whatever others might tell you, one thing you should never doubt is why the Second Rainbow lost its emergency powers and so much of its funding. It was political greed, national interests that poisoned that well. Your father never once blamed the successes of the Rainbow for its failure. You shouldn't, either. Too much of his work, what he fought for and believed in, is tied into that."

Tears in his eyes, Cedric Froid nodded. "Then who do I blame?"

"This is the saddest part about humanity." Wily mused coldly to Light, so softly that the others couldn't hear him. "We're always looking for someone to blame. We never outgrew that, I suppose."

Back at the punchbowl, Vinkus poured himself another cup of the red liquid and watched the restive Second Rainbow begin to dissipate. His eyes never left the small circle around Cedric Froid, not until Mick Jannsen stepped up beside him.

"Helluva sight, that." Mick offered dryly, picking up the ladle and pouring himself a glass. "I remember a lot of angry words tossed around over the years, but that's the first time I've seen a fist fly."

"And it was your countryman who threw the punch." Vinkus remarked, taking a sip. "Beskin had it coming, of course, but he and Dr. Jane brought up a very true point. Robots have not made us, as a species, any more morally advanced than we were before the Wars."

"Yeah?" Mick snorted. "You just now figured that out?"

Vinkus stared at them again. Light. Wily. Hyrmue. Xanthos. Froid. Grant.

"I recall that we had a conversation once, a while before." Vinkus said, lifting a hand up to adjust his glasses. "You remember what about, I hope?"

"Yeah. You said you'd let me know when technology and robots had gotten out of hand."

Vinkus tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, and caught Mick's eyes in the scope of his own. "I'm letting you know now."

Mick held the stare for a very long moment, then turned away. The two took another drink of punch simultaneously. "So what can we do? The Rainbow's falling apart."

"See who else feels as strongly as you do. Start with Beskin and Jane."

"All right." Mick set his cup down and set his hands in his pockets. "I'll let you know who I come up with." He sauntered off, and left Vinkus alone with his thoughts.

The Caucasian turned Japanese citizen was surrounded by almost every member of the Second Rainbow, in what should have been a unifying moment. What Vinkus hadn't told Jannsen chilled him to even ponder silently.

_The Second Rainbow's already split in two._

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_May 25__th__, 2067 C.E._

_6:45 A.M._

Blues didn't sleep as humans did; his stasis cycle took less time than a human's sleep cycle and allowed him more time to do as he pleased, or as he was ordered. His creators had left for Alaska on personal business…a human they had been friends with had died, and left their house in the care of their Advanced robot and the smaller Fliptop Blues knew as Eddie.

After the chores were done, which mainly involved sweeping and dusting, the two robots found they had ample amounts of free time with no definable purpose. Blues kept himself, and to a lesser extent, Eddie, diverted by playing Dr. Light's old music and perusing through the house.

The sable-haired robot was sitting in Light's room at the end of the round scientist's bed. In his hands was a strange and seemingly out of place item he had found among Light's belongings.

Eddie sifted in, blaring the squealing trumpet solos of Satchmo. Blues glanced up and found himself smiling; as Eddie had put Light's music albums on shuffle, it seemed a very strange coincidence that the music piece would be reflective of his name.

"It seems, Eddie, that our father named me for a style of music." The humanoid robot remarked. Eddie blinked his large optics, and beeped an affirmative response in binary. He followed it immediately with a question.

Blues held up the object in his hands; a pair of black sunglasses. "These? They're called sunglasses. I believe that Dr. Light wore them when he was younger."

Eddie beeped at him again, and Blues shrugged. "I don't know. I was curious, I suppose. My perception of Dr. Light is based on his appearance as I see him, but he is an older human. When he was younger, he may well have worn them. I suppose he felt he outgrew them." Eddie tilted his head to the side and chirped again, causing Blues to chuckle. "You really think I should? What good would they do me? Robots have no need for optical protective lenses. Our eyes can be replaced if there is a malfunction or defect."

This time, Eddie said nothing. Blues turned the sunglasses over in his hands again, considering them. "Still…" The robot thought aloud. A moment later, he came to a decision.

Blues closed his eyes and put on the sunglasses. When he opened them again, he saw the world through a shaded perspective. Everything slightly darker, but somehow…

With greater perspective.

Blues looked down at Eddie again. "Well?"

The smaller robot shrugged in answer. Blues stood up and walked out of the room, moving into the bathroom down the hall. He turned on the light, and stared at himself in the mirror.

An altered, but familiar face stared back at him. Blues found that he liked the change.

"With as much time as I spend outside recharging my batteries…" Blues said again, as Eddie tottered into the bathroom after him, "…I think I may come to enjoy these."

Eddie nodded again, seeing it only as a cosmetic difference and nothing more.

Neither robot realized that Blues had taken another large step forward towards becoming something greater than the sum of his parts…

Something the world had been waiting for, for a very long time.


	17. At Rainbow's End

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Sixteen: At Rainbow's End**

"_Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself." _**–Leo Tolstoy**

"_Circumstances can change anything, and nothing is absolute." –__**Keiji Inafune, interview September 2008 **_

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_June 2__nd__, 2067 C.E._

_1:42 P.M._

"Would you _please_ take those things off?" Dr. Wily snapped. His exasperation was getting progressively worse as Protoman's sense of individuality increased.

The robot gave him a long hard look, then lifted them up into his raven black hair. "What exactly bothers you about me wearing these, Doc?"

"There isn't enough time in the world for me to explain to you what I think is wrong about you wearing sunglasses." The robot's co-creator countered. A communications wire ran from an I/O port in Protoman's wrist up to Wily's data recorder, downloading the latest systems OS data. "Now take them off."

"They _are_ off." Blues muttered under his breath. He pointed at his eyes. "See? Not wearing them."

"They're still on your head, you…" Wily was cut off as his recorder beeped at him. With an sigh, he pulled the wire out of Protoman's arm and started to clean up his gear. "Never mind then. Go ahead and finish your recharge cycle. We'll see you inside in half an hour."

"Forty-five minutes." Blues corrected the roboticist. "My power cell isn't holding a charge like it used to."

"What?" Wily finished coiling the wire and stuffed it in his pocket. He frowned in thought. "Already?"

Blues shrugged. "I'll be in when the recharge cycle finishes." He turned his face and body back up towards the sun that came down through the break in the foliage above and slipped his sunglasses back on again.

"I thought I told you to…"

"You told me, 'never mind then.'" Blues snapped back, still facing away from him. "Make up your mind, Doc."

Muttering angry German oaths under his breath, Wily trudged out of the sun, and into the cool air conditioning of the house. Eddie met him at the door and beeped questioningly, but Wily waved him off. "Nothing to drink for now, Eddie." Wily kept his pace measured, and headed for the laboratory.

It didn't surprise him to see Light tinkering at one of the larger computer workstations, though for a change, his partner and co-founder of LightTech Industries wasn't working on programming code. He seemed to be dabbling in blueprints.

Light glanced up as Wily came closer. "Afternoon, Al. You seem in chipper spirits."

"Save it." Wily held up a hand and cut off the greeting, then dropped his recorder next to Light's keyboard. "I've got the latest diagnostic readings from Blues for you."

"Oh, good." Light saved his file and closed it down, but not before Wily got a good look at the designation. "I needed a break anyhow."

"What were you fiddling with in the transporter schematics?" Wily asked.

"Particle diffusion coils." Light said, hooking Wily's recorder into the side of his keyboard. "Had an idea on how to boost the scan resolution. Needs more work, though." He changed topics as the device registered and began a quick virus sweep of itself. "So, any problems with Blues that you noticed?"

"You mean besides his utterly belligerent personality?" Wily harrumphed. "I tell you, Tom, I don't like how he's turning out. Just today, I told him to take those ridiculous glasses off, and he…well, he _sort_ of did it, but I could tell he was mocking me. Mocking me, Tom!"

"Oh, come on." Light joked. "Even if he was mocking you, I'm sure you gave him a good reason to. You come down awful hard on him, and a pleasant word every now and then wouldn't go amiss."

"He's a robot, Tom. Not a human." Wily said irritably. "He doesn't suffer from hurt feelings."

Light turned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Completely?" The sudden stare made Wily very uncomfortable, and he looked away.

"I think we may have a problem with the solar power matrix you used in Blues." Wily said. "His recharge cycle is taking longer than it used to."

"His what?" Light started the data download, and immediately opened it up as it was coming in. His eyes scanned the latest diagnostics in a fast, flickering pattern that seemed to dance across the screen at random. "Holy God, you're right. It's right here. His batteries…They're wearing out."

The scientist, with a beard that was finally deep and snow white, slumped back in his chair. He put a hand up into his hair and shook his head. "That's impossible. He's always getting enough sun."

Wily crossed his arms and watched. There was something wholly unique about his friend when he got lost in deep thought.

Light stared up at the ceiling and let out a long sigh. "I suppose we'll have to switch out his fuel cell. It's not supposed to degrade this quickly."

"Hm. So are you going to switch him to a direct power circuit while we're doing that or shut him down?"

"A hard shutdown would cause less problems." Light drummed his fingertips beside his keyboard. "Once we've got the old power cell out and the new one put in, we can figure out what's causing him grief. If it's falling apart this fast, I wouldn't trust it during a switchout. It might spark."

"Well, **that** wouldn't be good." Wily snorted. "He's sarcastic enough as it is. He isn't human, Tom, but sometimes, I look at him, and I'm not quite sure what he's thinking." Wily couldn't suppress the shiver. "About us."

Light's laugh seemed a shade sadder. "Years ago, I wondered the same thing with Eddie. And Blues is several steps more advanced than our Fliptop." The rounded scientist stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I think, Albert, that perhaps what we need to do is stop looking at Blues as just another robot. He's something more than that."

Wily gave him such a stricken expression of panic that Light wondered for a moment if he'd had a heart attack. "I can't tell if you were serious just then. Tom, he's just a robot. I can't…I refuse…"

The wild-haired roboticist gave his head a violent shake. "If you're right, you should be as afraid as I am. What's to stop him from replacing us? From destroying us?"

"You've been obsessing over that old Kapek novel too much." Light criticized him. "Yes, we're at a time where science fiction is becoming fact. But I look in the other direction. Robots can be of great help to humanity. That's why we made the Core Module. Why we have the Laws. Follow Asimov's example, not Kapek's."

Wily leaned up against the nearest counter in the laboratory, and the two stared at each other. The so-called 'mad scientist' took the time to calm his breathing.

"I've read Asimov's works as well, Thomas." Albert Wily finally replied. "And I remember something else. Humanity in his books became so dependent on robots that they became withdrawn and stagnant. Hell, he even had an entire _planet_ which became xenophobic because of them."

"Then maybe that's because people saw them as nothing but tools." Light snorted. "Robots can be _more_ than artificial workers. They can…"

"They can what, Tom?" Wily asked. "What can they be? An entire species unto themselves? Artificial sentients? Is that what we're building towards? You've always believed the best in people, Tom, but I've seen the worst. Humanity will never be able to co-exist with another species like us!" He flung a hand in the air. "It would cause tension, aggression, conflict…war, all over again. People don't change, not fast enough for a future like that!"

"Why?!" Thomas shouted back, caught up in it. It had been a very long time since he'd gotten this mad, but Wily, more than anyone else, always knew the right buttons to push. "You're just saying because that's what you believe!"

"And you're arguing the opposite because of your own beliefs!" Wily snarled. "So either I'm shortsighted or you're a fool, or maybe it's both!"

"If that's the case, then why in God's green earth do you still stick around?" Light pounded his fist onto the keyboard, earning an aggravated beep for the jarring pain it caused. "Why are you still here with me?!"

Again, awkward silence visited the house of Light. Again, a quiet, sad voice answered it.

Wily bowed his head, and the prophet of fire and fury disappeared for the broken old man the world had left behind. "Because Vanessa died." He whispered. "Because you're…all I have left."

A pang of jealousy rose up through long dead memories. Light could feel it try to taint everything, but he pushed it away. As angry as he had been only seconds before…

Albert Wily was still his best friend.

"You never told me you loved her too."

"I didn't." Wily shrugged, letting off a short, defeated laugh. "Not until you and she finished working on the code for those old bionic legs. And by the time I did?" He shook his head again. "She loved you. She didn't say it then, but she would have never gone to you if she didn't."

"So how come you didn't…you know, make a move on her?" Light stumbled for the phrasing.

Wily smiled, and that genuine look on his face made Light forgive all his ramblings before. "I lost my chance. I wasn't going to make you lose yours." He offered a wink at the last. "Although, it would have made for some interesting threesomes."

"Ugh." Light dropped his forehead on the desk by his computer and slammed it there repeatedly. Wily laughed at the exaggerated motion. "I can't believe you just…no, I can, that's the awful thing."

"Yes, I'm a dirty old bastard."

"Well, one of us had to be." Light got up and walked over to his friend. He set an arm on Wily's shoulder and nodded. "Come on, let's get out of here for a while. I think we both need to decompress."

"Wait a minute. What about Blues?" Wily stopped for a moment.

Light shrugged. "He can take care of himself for an afternoon. I want some ice cream."

"You don't need any." Wily chuckled.

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

_Second Rainbow Headquarters_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_June 5__th__, 2067 C.E._

_10:24 A.M._

Most people would think that Alaska was nothing but permafrost and snowswept tundra, but it did have a summer, especially along the southern edges of the coast. Ewan Lake, where the SRHQ was based, was only a little farther inland, and benefited from the short, but pleasant temperate weather.

The wind wasn't up, so Marcel d'Whyste, long-time CNN reporter and liaison for Second Rainbow affairs, had asked to do the interview outside. Darwin, his interviewee for the day, found little reason to argue with it. The SRHQ main complex served as a very powerful background image.

A makeup artist put the finishing touches on Marcel's face, making sure that the reporter would look his best under the glare of midmorning. He glanced over and smiled at Darwin. "I'm glad that you agreed to meet with me today, Mr. Vinkus."

"Don't mention it." Darwin replied easily. The age and fatigue his position had bestowed on him gave him the air of a stoic grandfather figure on camera, even a holographic one. The image was misleading, but it had such an endearing effect that he'd never bothered to correct it. "It is more vital than ever that we remain open to the public eye. Oh, I heard that you were promoted recently. Congratulations."

"Thank you." Marcel basked in the praise. "This time next month, I'll be lead anchor back at the main studio. This will probably be one of the last pieces I'll do on this place."

"Make it a good one, then." Darwin advised him. As far as Vinkus was concerned, it wouldn't be a terrible loss to have Marcel disappear from his life. The man, by the nature of his job, had always been at odds with him, picking away at the Second Rainbow and its members in search of a story.

By a story, of course, Marcel wanted dirt. Anything else was fluff, after all.

The red light above the high resolution holographic capable camera began glowing brightly. It was a throwback to a different age, true, but Darwin preferred knowing when he was on film. The past was littered with public figures who were caught saying things that weren't meant for the ears of a television audience, and the former peacekeeper turned statesman had no desire to utter things he didn't want heard.

Marcel flipped on the newscaster's charm he was famous for. "Thanks, Roger. I'm here out in front of the Second Rainbow's headquarters here in pristine Alaska, where Darwin Vinkus has agreed to give us an interview. For those of you who don't recall, Mr. Vinkus serves as the Second Rainbow's representative in the General Assembly of the United Nations. Mr. Vinkus, thank you for taking time out of your schedule to meet with us today."

"It's no problem." Darwin assured the man, remaining unshakably calm. He remained relaxed in his seat and kept one hand out in the open. The other, in his coat pocket, was clenched to a blood-restricting white.

Marcel crossed one leg over his knee and plugged away. "Recently, the Second Rainbow was dealt a heavy blow by the General Assembly. Your remarks on the record prior to the vote that eliminated the emergency powers and a good deal of the budget were very evocative. Tell me, sir, with the Second Rainbow "Neutered", as you claimed it would be if the vote passed, can this institution continue to exist?"

Darwin's eyes widened fractionally, and his mind raced through all the possible courses of the interview to end up at one stark conclusion.

_He's doing a piece about how the Second Rainbow is going to collapse._

The few seconds worth of dead air as Vinkus scrambled for an answer were very telling. Marcel simply kept smiling, a predator baring his fangs, and let the man dig his own grave.

"The Second Rainbow remains as dedicated as it has ever been." Vinkus finally said. "The best and the brightest that the world has to offer are working to improve the lives of humanity. The Second Rainbow still exists, and it will continue to exist. Even without some of the projects we've had to cut back on, there is still much left to do."

"Would you care to elaborate on what projects the Second Rainbow has on its plate?"

"We still maintain a supervisory role over several key facilities around the world; The New Shirewick purification center, SKYLIGHT, the Mauna Kea observatories, the Amazon Treeborg reclamation expanse, and the Australian Hydroponics Complex. Those facilities are responsible for either protecting the world or replenishing our precious stores of food, water, and breathable air."

"But currently, there are no new projects in the works, is that correct?" Marcel prodded.

Caught by the truth, Vinkus numbly nodded his head.

"Has the Second Rainbow's mandate changed to only maintaining existing projects?"

"Our goal remains unchanged." Vinkus rebuffed Marcel. "The Reclamation of our still struggling world, and its continued protection and defense. The need is too great, and the outcomes of failure too staggering for us to stop or alter our course simply because of budgetary concerns." Darwin locked eyes with the reporter. "There isn't a soul in the Second Rainbow who doesn't agree with that. We remain united."

Marcel's smile focused in, and he tented his fingertips. "It is interesting you would choose that phrase, Mr. Vinkus. I've heard from reliable sources that the Second Rainbow doesn't have the same spirit of solidarity that it once did."

"Really?" Vinkus said. His face showed no reaction, but inside, he was seething. Marcel was digging, and he hated that game. Of course, to leave now would only add more fuel to the fire of whatever torch the newsman was carrying. Far too often a _"No comment"_ only caused further scrutiny. "I hadn't heard that myself. Whoever your source must be is wrong."

"Oh, I doubt that." Marcel shook his head. "Around two weeks ago, the Second Rainbow lost one of its most charismatic and unifying figures. Doctor Seymour Froid, of the New Shirewick project? That was a heavy blow for the world. Some of the Rainbow's members got into a 'row', as it was described, over the direction that the group was taking. Some believed that the actions of others served to dishonor the memory of Dr. Froid, and the group's work as a whole."

Marcel D'Whyste waited a heartbeat, then drove the stake home. "You were there at that event. Everyone saw the brawl happen. What were your thoughts on it?"

Vinkus let out his breath in a slow exhale. "It was a regrettable incident caused by a very _select_ _and limited_ group of members. I'd advise you not to read too deeply into it, as you'll end up chasing illusory shadows."

"That may be the case." Marcel conceded. "But the Second Rainbow is still composed of a very diverse group of minds, and along with that brilliance comes variation and strong senses of individuality. With such a coalition, consensus is surely a rare thing, correct? Some of the minutes from the meetings held at the SRHQ attest to that."

"Our differences make us stronger."

"They also cause dissent." Marcel leaned forward. "I have a scenario that I want to run by you."

"You expect me to offer a comment on your postulating, Marcel?" Darwin smirked, glad to be able to send a jab back in his direction. "I won't, of course."

"Well, just hear me out then." Marcel held up two fingers. "From an outsider's perspective, there seem to be two trains of thought that run through the Second Rainbow. Some of your members believe that technology not only saved the world, but plays a vital role in improving the quality of life for a rebuilding human race. A…Tech faction, as it were. And then there are those who feel that machines have gone too far, that we are becoming too reliant on them and that life would be simpler. An Anti-Tech faction."

"An interesting hypothesis." Vinkus shrugged. "Of course, I think you would find a more receptive audience for your ideas with the Human Supremacy League. If you could find them."

"The HSL is a danger, but recent public opinion polls indicate that a sizable portion of the population agrees with their beliefs…though certainly not their methods. Given that, I would say it's not so unreasonable, especially given the events at Dr. Froid's funeral, that the Second Rainbow is equally conflicted over the question."

"Remind me again, why am I here?" Vinkus asked testily. "You seem to have taken on both roles in this interview."

"Yes, I apologize." Marcel pulled back. "I merely wished to get your opinion on these matters. As the Rainbow's representative for the U.N, you hold a great deal of influence, after all."

"As I'm forever reminded." Darwin rose from his seat. "However, my duties once again call me, and I did only promise you a few minutes."

"Of course." Marcel turned back to his camera crew and gave the cutoff signal. The red light above the camera flickered out.

Seething, but with a calm that was out of character for the mercurial diplomat, Darwin stared at Marcel. "What the Hell were you trying to prove here? And no, this conversation is now _off_ the record."

"I'm just looking for a story."

"Looking for a story or manufacturing one?" Vinkus snapped. "Yes, the Second Rainbow has some problems. No, we don't always agree. But if you go out and publish a news story over the material you just talked about here, you're threatening all the good we can still accomplish."

"You think I did this just to earn points with the studio?" Marcel asked. "Darwin, you and I have never really gotten along, but I've been following the Rainbow almost as long as you've been serving in it. I've catalogued and reported your triumphs, your successes, and every human moment I could get on camera or interview about. I'm trying to get you to open your eyes here. Things are changing. This group has already changed. Maybe you're too close to see it. Maybe you don't want to see it." Marcel looked troubled now. "But I have a feeling that the walls are crumbling here. It looks sturdy, but there are cracks. And all it's going to take is one major upset…one shocking news bulletin, one revelation, one new circumstance that is hard to deal with, and this group will fall apart."

Vinkus turned away. "So what? We should give up?"

Marcel shook his head. "No. You've never given up, Darwin. It'd be out of character for you to curl up and die now. Maybe you should just start thinking about what you might do afterwards. A life after the Second Rainbow. Hell, that's what I'm doing."

"And before you go, you want to know where to point the camera to see the end of the world?" Vinkus scoffed. "How noble." He turned away from the man, not wanting to see his face.

"Some days, I've been noble. Other days, I haven't." Marcel quipped. His camera crew finished packing up the gear and headed down the path towards their news van, but Marcel lingered a moment longer. "In the end, I'm just human. Like all of you are. Somewhere along the line of all your triumphs, I think you and everyone else forgot that. It's hard to go back to being a mortal after you've savored the power of a god."

Marcel bowed slightly, even though Darwin wasn't looking at him. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Vinkus. Don't let this place swallow you when it goes under." The reporter turned about and followed his news crew.

Darwin walked a different direction, towards the SRHQ's main building, and his office.

"Tech. Anti-Tech." Vinkus muttered lowly. He hadn't needed Marcel to tell him any of that. Darwin knew what had been happening. He had his plans for after, though he still fought to prevent it.

The only thing that Marcel's observations had contributed to the schism in progress was little more than superfluous labeling.

At least now, the two sides of the coin had a name.

* * *

_LightTech Industries_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_June 6__th__, 2067 C.E._

_1:23 P.M._

The Board of Directors. A necessary evil when it came to a publicly traded corporations, they nonetheless found ways to consistently aggravate Wily.

Such as their latest move, which even had Titus shaking his head.

_We should have just stuck with Japanese businessmen. But nooo, we went international for the help._

"All in favor of the motion?" The vote was scattered, with Wily, Grant, and a harried Dr. Light raising their hands in opposition. When they did, several others followed example. The suit who'd made the motion nodded. "Very well, the motion does **not** pass. Titus Grant will continue on as Chief Executive Officer of LightTech Industries."

"What was the point of that vote, exactly?" Dr. Light demanded of the room full of businessmen. The one in charge of the vote, a second generation _Nihonjin _salaryman named Wazuo Hiroshi, held up a hand placatingly.

"We're entering a new age, Doctor Light. The 'Big Three', as our own firm, U.S. Robotics, and Sennet are called, are beginning to see additional competition in the field. Robotics is a competitive industry, and while we make no mistake that you and your fellow Rainbow expatriates have done a terrific job making this company successful and profitable, the demands on your time are such that we feel that the day to day operations, as well as the future of this firm, would be best left to those more involved."

_Wazuo-sama_ purposefully kept his eyes on Light. "This is the first time that you have been at a board meeting in years, after all."

"You can say what you like, but this is _our_ company, not yours." Light said evenly. "It is our hard work, our innovations that make the products which people buy."

"And they're buying, but the trends indicate that unless LightTech Industries does something—and soon—we'll lose market share." Wazuo went on. "Others are growing, but we haven't had anything new to offer since the Pickman series. If you could give us some reassurance that you're still looking ahead, the board might feel better about leaving Mr. Grant in a position of leadership."

"If this was a play to get us to open up about what we've been working on, you could've just asked." Wily complained. "We've been working on two projects Neither's ready, but both show promise."

"Oh?" Wazuo leaned back in his seat. "Could you elaborate for us?"

"One is transfer of matter over extreme distances at high velocities." Light dropped the longwinded term without a care, then added almost as afterthought, "Matter teleportation."

That earned him some shocked stares from the board.

"You think…transporters…can become reality?" Titus asked, putting the question forth that was on everyone's mind. "For real?"

"All _Star Trek_ jokes aside, yes." Light agreed. "We haven't built up a working model yet, but a lot of the number crunching looks solid so far. We're about two to three years from making it a reality. We just had to wait for computer processing technology to catch up with the demands of what this'll take."

"Hm." Wazuo rubbed at his chin. "Well, that would be a windfall, especially if we kept it as proprietary technology. But that's a ways off. What was your second project, by chance?"

"A new kind of robot." Wily cut in, knowing that that was the piece of information the board of directors wanted to hear. The wild-haired roboticist crossed his arms and stared down the length of the table. "Something we noticed during the SKYLIGHT project was that we had all these robotic work crews running around, but their efficiency was cut down because the human overseers couldn't multitask between all the different groups effectively. However, a robot of ours that we've had around the house for more than two decades now showed specific idiosyncrasies."

"You talkin' about Eddie?" Titus asked. Wily gave him a nod.

"Yes, Eddie. The prototype for the Fliptop series. For whatever reason, we suspect that some robots like our household Fliptop develop differently. Light tracked down a certain arrangement in the positronic pathways that makes increased reasoning and deduction possible. Using that as a template, we've been working on coming up with a robot with a higher degree of intelligence and rationality than those currently available on the market. It's our hope that these "Advanced robots" might be able to act as overseers for robotic work crews in harsh or dangerous environments. It would help to further minimize the risk of injury to humans."

"It sounds interesting." Wazuo agreed. "But maybe a different term would work better. Advanced robot might not curry public favor, and I think polling would show that. Maybe something else. Robot overseer? Robot workchief? Robot…master?" Wazuo gave his head a shake. "We'll figure something out. In the meantime, how close to production are you with this new robot?"

Light and Wily looked at each other, each sharing the same unspoken thought.

_Should we tell them about Blues?_

Wily was the first to look away, and gave his head a shake. "We're still running some tests. I'd give you the same prognosis. Two years, maybe three. We want to get this right, not done in a hurry."

"Hm." Wazuo considered the news. "Well, do so then. Is there anything you can offer more immediately?"

"For the time being?" Light thought aloud. "No. We do have the schematics for that "Big Eye" trash compactor unit, so you could go ahead and move on that. But there's no sense announcing the Advanced robot project just yet, Hiroshi."

"You wish to keep the other companies guessing?" Wazuo smiled. "A good move, _Raito-sensei."_

The lead man of the board glanced around, looking for any other comments. When none appeared forthcoming, he cleared his throat. "I think that will do for this meeting. Thank you again for coming, Doctors Light and Wily. This session is closed."

Light, Wily, and Grant left the conference room before the rest of the board could filter out, mostly because none of them wanted to stick around.

"They tried to fire me." Titus complained to his two closest friends from the Second Rainbow. "Can you believe that? ME!"

"They're getting bored, I tell you." Light sighed. "And when people get bored, they do stupid things just to pass the time. Don't worry, Titus. The only way you're leaving is if you want to. Long as you want to stick around here, it's your job."

"Considering it's still our company, yes." Wily grunted.

"So all this time, you've been working on a newer and better robot." Titus chuckled. "You crusty old bastards, you. Been holdin' out on me."

"You're not that much younger than we are." Light scratched at his stomach. "But yes. He's just not ready yet."

"Crikey, you mean you got the thing built already?"

"Not to a point I'd advocate mass production." Wily grumbled. "Maybe never. And remember…"

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't hear it from you." Titus sighed. "You know, I think I liked it better when we were just Second Rainbow people and not Second Rainbow people who doubled in a business. This just gives me way too damn many headaches."

"Yes, it does." Light admitted. "Maybe that's why I spend so much of my time hiding out in my house working on things."

"You're not a hermit yet, Tom." Wily punched him in the shoulder. "And you won't be, if I have anything to say about it."

"Are you trying to look out for me, Al?"

"You won't do it for yourself, old friend." Dr. Wily shook his head. "You haven't since I pulled you out from that hut by Lake Quesnel."

"Come on, now." Titus wedged himself between the two and threw his arms over their shoulders. The broad Australian gave them a smirk as they continued for the elevator. "I think you two are just a spot hungry, if ye ask me. Come on, let's go get some food. I'm thinking I'm in the mood for some of that shrimp curry we had a couple of weeks back."

"Oh, that _does _sound good." Light oohed. "Yeah, some curry sounds terrific."

"Is that all you think about?" Wily kept his curmudgeonly attitude going. "Honestly. Every time we get together, we always end up just stuffing ourselves or getting drunk."

"Look at it like this." Titus rationalized their favorite traditions, as they reached the end of the corridor. The elevator doors opened automatically on approach, and they stepped in. "We ended up surviving the Wars when two thirds of the world didn't. We've saved the world a lot of times over, and now we've got a new generation growing up thanks to the hard work we did. I look at it all and I tell myself, life's too short to spend gripin' about. So if I want to spend my time being with friends and having a good time…Well, is that really so bad, Al?"

Dr. Albert William Wily considered the question and gave his two old teammates one of his famous scrutinizing stares. His frown faded out for a half smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows in defeat. "No, I suppose not."

"Curry it is then!" Light huzzahed. He punched the button for the ground floor of the LightTech building.

"And beer!" Titus Grant called after him, throwing a fist in the air.

Smiling, Wily shook his head at the antics of the two and looked out ahead as the elevator doors closed with a ding.

"And friends." He added, in the closest to a prayer he ever got.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_1:31 P.M._

The courier made his way to the front door. The trip out to this place had been a surreal one. After all, taking an outgoing monorail from the heart of Tokyo to the Shugoya Treeborg Preserve was an experience in and of itself…but to find out that someone lived out here?

He hadn't believed it until he saw the name on the package, and even then, he still had trouble believing it.

He shook his head and walked up the gravel path. In the midst of a grove of Treeborgs was a clearing with a house at its center, and a strange structure lying off on the side of it as well. It even had a tree growing in the front yard, a lone Grey Oak Treeborg which looked a little younger than some of the others, but just as sturdy. Treeborgs grew fast, after all.

There were five steps on a small stairway that went up to a porch that wrapped around the front of the house. The house didn't look Japanese at all in style, he realized. It was closer to a glorified American home, complete with a porch that had a swing on the end of for sitting in on warm afternoons.

"Huh." The courier walked up the steps, took a moment to adjust his uniform one last time, then opened the screen door and then rang the doorbell.

There was no noise inside for a moment, then soft, muffled footsteps, as though a cat or a dog inside had taken notice of him.

A small pet door at the bottom of the main door swung up, and a red, round mechanical thing poked its head through.

_"Nani?"_ The courier's eyes boggled for a moment as two comically large eyes stared back up at him. He calmed himself down as he realized what it was. "A fliptop?" He said in his native Japanese.

The robot stared at him for a moment longer, blinked once in response, and then vanished back through the door. There was the sound of a strange series of beeps and whistles from the houses' interior, and then heavier footsteps approached the door.

The courier craned his neck to look through the glass paneling set at eye level, but he could see no one inside. The front door opened, and the courier took a hesitant step back.

A young boy with black hair, but undeniable _Gaijin_ features looked back at him. He was wearing sunglasses, and was dressed in a button down Hawaiian shirt and loose fitting slacks that flared out at the bottom and covered his feet.

"Yes?" The boy said, in flawless Japanese. "What can I do for you?" He looked to be about ten years old, and stood at one and a quarter, or maybe one and a third meters tall.

The courier stared for a moment. "Does…Does Doctor Light live here?"

The boy nodded. "He does. As does Dr. Wily."

"And you live here with them?" The courier was still puzzled.

The boy frowned for a moment, his eyes hidden behind the opaque sunglasses so well that it was impossible to read them. "I…I suppose I do." The young fellow conceded after two seconds' pause. "Why are you here…Tosho?" The boy had caught sight of the courier's nametag, and added it quickly to the question.

Tosho the courier coughed. "Oh, right. Yes, I'm here to deliver a package. Is Dr. Light here right now?"

"Sorry, neither he nor Doc Wily are in right now." The youth apologized. "I'm here keeping an eye on the house while they're gone. If you'd like, I can give the package to them when they get back."

"Well, I suppose that would be all right." Tosho handed over the package, with a digital tablet resting on top of it. "They're supposed to sign for it, though."

"Well, I can sign for it, if you'd like." The boy said helpfully. He reached out and took the stylus from the tablet, then put down a signature in a precise, controlled motion.

Tosho took the tablet back and examined the script. It was written in English, but done in block script so that it was legible.

"Blues?" Tosho repeated the name aloud, glancing from the tablet to the boy. "Your name is _Blues?"_

The youth shrugged. "It's more of a nickname, I guess. But I like it." He tucked the box under his arm and looked back to the courier. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Tosho?"

"No, I don't think so. You just make sure that your father gets that box, you hear?"

Blues tilted his head to the side at Tosho's remark, and seemed to give it a bit of thought before nodding in reply. "He will get it." The young fellow promised. "Take care, Tosho."

"Yeah, same to you, kid." Tosho waved as Blues stepped back inside the house and closed the door.

He made his way away from the house and down the gravel path, shaking his head all the while.

"I didn't know that Light even had a son…"

* * *

_Human Supremacy League_

_Special Operations Command_

_Navajo Desert, New Mexico_

The messenger wished he was anywhere else, doing anything else besides walking down the dusty hallways of the commandeered bomb shelter. The message he'd been sent to deliver would make any member of the League go livid.

Colonel Dan Masters, on the other hand…

Well, there was a reason James Walken had put him in charge of the SpecOps unit. Many of the men Colonel Masters trained went on to serve as the elite warriors in Walken's Executor force.

Here, in a fallout shelter built to service Congressmen in case of a nuclear war, but lost from the records, Dan Masters trained his men for a struggle against robotkind that held no end in sight. Colonel Masters had been in the Army during the Wars, and it had been by sheer luck that he'd stumbled across the unused facility after one particularly harrowing defeat at the Mexican border. The GAIDNs had failed, or rather, been reprogrammed. They'd danced, and U.S. forces had died. _The only consolation_, Colonel Masters often told his men, _is that they caught the son of a bitch responsible. Some Goddamned kid. It's too bad he was blown up before I could bash his head in myself._

The messenger shook it off and found he'd arrived at the doorway of the training room his CO resided in. He took a breath to steel himself and knocked.

"Enter!" Came the booming, gruff voice of Colonel Masters. The messenger walked inside and offered a quick salute. Colonel Masters had six new recruits with him, and it looked like they'd been practicing hand to hand combat maneuvers. Unnecessary for fighting robots, but excellent for keeping a soldier in top form.

Colonel Masters was a leather-skinned fifty-year old veteran in faded 2040-era fatigues and a dyed violet beret. The gray whiskers under his nose twitched as he returned the gesture smoothly. "Yes, private?"

"Uhhh, sir." The messenger stammered. "Strike Force Beta put through an emergency call five minutes ago. They reported taking heavy fire on their latest raid, and then…" He swallowed. "We lost contact with them."

Colonel Masters' face darkened. "We lost another squad? Is that what you're telling me?"

"They said that there were over thirty warbots on the grounds who attacked them. Laser armed, and heavily armored." The corporal stammered, praying that news of the odds stacked against them would quell the Colonel's legendary wrath.

It didn't.

Fist shaking, Colonel Masters turned away from the corporal. "Get out of here."

The corporal didn't even bother with a salute as he ran out the door.

Colonel Masters walked to the far end of the training room, aware that every recruit was watching him with worried eyes. On top of a table up against the wall sat a steel box. He grabbed it by the edge. "I want all of you to see this."

Angrily, he tore the box away from the wall and spilled its contents on the floor. A Metool tumbled out of the container and bounced several times before rolling upright to a halt.

The robot, confused at the sudden motion, glanced around itself and made a beeping noise.

Colonel Masters towered over it. "This is the enemy." He called out, his tone brooking no argument. "Robots. Artificial constructs supposedly built to make our lives better."

He brought his boot up and stomped hard onto the Metool's reinforced helmet. The robot squawked in protest, but was forced to retreat under the covering as the human pinned it down.

"You're here because you know better. Robots are an abomination, a blight brought here. Their presence weakens us, lulls us into complacency. Look at this robot under my heel." He spat the name out. "A Metool. Harmless, yes? Small. Silly looking. Present almost everywhere. Its capabilities and appearance are a deception, meant to fool us all. That's why the SpecOps unit was formed. We're the ones out there risking our necks, planning the attacks on robot manufacturing centers. The attack at U.S. Robotics' Chicago plant? Us. And you're here because you want to be a part of it. You want to be the change that guides humanity out of the grip that robots have on us. A world without these mechanical beings, set to replace us in every way. Our jobs, our livelihoods, our pride have all been torn away from us."

He pulled a laser pistol from the holster on his waist and flipped the power switch. The weapon whined as it built up a charge. "I served in the Army, and I told myself back then that the GAIDNs were a good thing. That they saved American lives. I realized too late how wrong my thinking was."

He picked his foot up and gave the Metool a hard kick. The robot beeped loudly again as it was sent careening across the floor. It bounced off the wall once and flipped over onto its helmet, kicking its tiny feet uselessly in the air.

"So here's the most important lesson I'll ever teach any of you." He whipped his pistol around and fired off a shot. The beam was nearly invisible and very sudden, but the effect it had stood out clearly. A thin hole was burned clear through the Metool's underside, and it sparked wildly before the rechargeable power cell inside of it destabilized. The thing exploded into three cracked pieces, kept together only by the durability of its helmet, each quivering on the floor as smoke rose from the scrap.

Colonel Masters kept his pistol trained on the remains and spoke very slowly. "The only good robot is a **scrapped** robot. And as long as you're here in my unit, you're going to live, eat, and breathe that philosophy. The companies who make these robots have money, power, and influence! Almost the entire world sucks down the garbage they spout off. This isn't a battle for the faint of heart, or the insane. You want to believe that God Himself favors us and that He has decreed our victory? You can believe that when I'm done with you and Walken gets a hold of you again."

He stowed his pistol and marched on the line of recruits, getting into the face of the first young buck. The boy's face had gone pale from the display. "Starting today, you sawed off pricks, _I AM GOD._" He pulled back, only fractionally, so he could scan them all. "If you're smart, you'll live. If you're stupid, I'll kill you myself. If you're lucky, you'll get the chance to strike a blow against these Godforsaken machines. And if you ever start doubting yourself, I want you to remember this pile of junk on the floor behind me, and I want you to tell yourself that even an 'innocent' robot like that helmeted piece of shit isn't worth your concern. They don't bleed, they don't have children, and they don't have lives. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." The recruits intoned hesitantly.

Colonel Masters bristled. "I **said**, _IS THAT CLEAR!?"_

"SIR, YES SIR!" They repeated with the fire he wanted.

"Good." Colonel Masters set his hands behind his back, going to parade rest. "Then you're dismissed."

The six recruits came to attention and saluted, then marched out of the training room.

Colonel Masters held position until they were gone, then looked down at the remains of the Metool. His head buzzing with fury over the latest failure at the U.S. Robotics raid in Maine, the smoking chunks of scrap unnerved him. A small puddle of fluid had collected underneath it. Oil, perhaps, or hydraulic fluid.

"Robots don't bleed." Colonel Masters told himself. "Robots _don't bleed."_

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_2:47 P.M._

The front door opened, and Dr. Light swaggered inside. "We're hooooome!"

Wily came in after him and carefully closed the door. The mad scientist sighed. "I think that's pretty clear, Tom. You're not exactly the sneaking type."

Blues walked out into the main foyer from the direction of the laboratory, still wearing his sunglasses. "Welcome back, doc. Dad."

Wily raised an eyebrow. "What? Dad?"

"No. You're doc." Blues motioned to Light, who seemed a bit tipsy. "He's dad."

"I don't believe this." Wily grumbled. He stormed past Dr. Light and Blues. "I'll be in my room, trying to regain some _sanity!"_

Blues watched him storm off, then looked back to Dr. Light. "Did I say something wrong?"

"I don't think he'll ever get used to you using a term of familiarity like 'dad' to describe either of us."

"And…does it bother you?"

"No, not really." Light reached over and patted the robot on the shoulder. "I never had the chance to raise a family, Blues. In a way, you are my family. And Al, for better or worse, is your crazy old uncle. Because every family needs one."

"Hmm. A family." The robot considered the concept, then dismissed it from further discussion. "Well, then. A package came in while you were gone today."

"It did, huh? They leave it at the door?" Light sank into his couch.

"No, I had to sign for it."

"Wait a minute." Light sat up. "The deliveryman saw you?"

"Well, yes. Someone had to answer the door." Blues said, sounding puzzled at his creator's confusion. "Is that a problem?"

Light gave Blues a long, discerning look. "Did he…Well, what did he say?"

"About what?"

"About you."

"He seemed surprised that there would be anyone else here besides you and Doctor Wily, but otherwise stuck to business."

"And did he say anything about you being a robot?" Light questioned.

Behind his sunglasses, Blues blinked. "I don't think he realized I was one."

Light's smile at that revelation lit up the room. "Good grief. We really did hit one out of the park when we made you, Blues. We spent years working on giving you a body that no other robot had. But to hear that somebody mistook you as a human boy? Oh, it makes all the years of research and development worth it."

"You're proud, then?"

"Well, I should be, shouldn't I?" Light asked. "Humans take pride in their accomplishments, as well as in the accomplishments of their offspring."

"I guess." Blues shrugged. "Some of the things you talk about, they…well, I don't always understand."

"I suspect, Blues, in time, you will." Light reassured him.

Light sat there a moment longer with Blues watching him before he spoke up again. "Blues?"

"Yeah, dad?" The robot said, seeming to prefer the familial term.

Light drummed his fingers on the couch's armrest. "Dr. Wily told me that you've been taking longer and longer to get a full recharge on your solar fuel cells. Is that right?"

"Yes, it is." Blues nodded. "I don't understand why it's happening, but it hasn't been a problem yet."

"No, but it could be. If we let it go unchecked." Light pointed towards his head. "Your positronic matrix requires stasis. It clears out your RAM cache, stores memories into your permanent databank, and prevents fragmentation. Your body requires a recharge cycle to do much the same; it runs maintenance while you're in powersave mode. If your battery isn't holding up, you won't be able to maintain normal operations for as long as you should."

Blues lifted up his glasses and looked on Light with his clear blue eyes. "All right. So what's causing it? Is it because I run on solar energy and not something more traditional?"

"Maybe. It could be, but I'm not sure." Light sighed. "What we really need to do is power you down, pull it out, and replace it with a new one. Then we can take a look at your old power cell and figure out what went wrong."

Blues actually winced at that news. "A full shutdown? Is that necessary?"

"Well…" Light hesitated. "We could just hook you up to a static power supply while we're running the operation Blues, but if we do that, there's the chance of a power surge. And we really don't know how that would affect you. It might just give you the equivalent of a hiccup, or it could fry out every system in your body. A full systems shutdown is the safest route to go."

"Is that an order, then?" Blues asked softly.

The father looked upon his robotic son, and realization dawned on him.

"My God." Light whispered. "Just like Eddie." Blues gave him a puzzled expression, and Light quickly reiterated his point. "Blues, this isn't an order, just a question. If you had your choice between us doing a full shutdown when we replace your power cell or keeping you online and on a separate power supply, what would you choose?"

"Staying online." Blues answered immediately.

"Why?"

"Because…" Blues began, but fumbled for an explanation. "I just want to."

"Are you afraid?"

"I'm a robot, I can't be afraid." Blues muttered. He slipped his glasses back on. "So when were you thinking of doing this, exactly?"

"As soon as we can." Light thought for a moment. "Will tomorrow work?"

"I don't exactly keep a schedule." Blues remarked dryly.

Light snorted. "Blues, did you just crack a joke?"

"Dad, you're imagining things. You see robots do things and you quantify the responses by your own human quirks."

"Or is it the other way around, and you're becoming more human by modeling our behaviors?" Light inferred. Blues offered another noncommittal shrug. "You weren't programmed to shrug, Blues. Or wear sunglasses. You learned those things yourself."

"So I've learned a few things. It still doesn't make me human, even if I look like one." Blues changed the subject. "When you switch out my solar battery, will you…"

"You asked to stay online." Light reassured him. "I'll make sure you're awake through the whole process. I keep my promises, Blues."

"All right." Blues smiled at the news, determining it was the best facial response. "Thanks, dad." He waved, then turned and walked back towards the laboratory.

Light folded his hands together and stared up at the ceiling, smiling as well.

"They thought he was human."

* * *

_Aboard the __Socrates_

_Mid-Pacific Ocean_

_June 7__th__, 2067 C.E._

_3:30 P.M._

Oliver Xanthos set his phone down on the patio table and relaxed back into his pool chair with a sigh.

Quartermaster Garren Talos, as loyal to his employer as he'd been 15 years ago in the most exciting escape he'd seen in his life, came up and set down a fresh mimosa by the phone. "It sounds like your conversation wasn't a pleasant one."

"Oh, we've definitely had more productive ones, true enough." Oliver plucked the offered drink with a grateful nod and took a sip. "Director Van Hostick has flatly refused financial assistance. I guess an open donation offends him."

"He's never turned down your help before." Garren said. "What's changed?"

"I wish I knew. Maybe it has something to do with that news report? About how the Rainbow's fracturing?" Vinkus stared out over the ocean's surface. "Well, whatever it is, it seems that the leadership has decided to keep me out of the loop. My time in the Second Rainbow is at an end. Officially, I was never a member, after all."

The old weapons merchant turned philanthropist seemed sadder after he said it. "Ah well. I have friends, and people who care for me. Perhaps that is enough, given everything I've done."

"Hmm." Garren made a soft noise. "If that were the case, sir, you wouldn't be taking this as hard as you are. You enjoyed helping people. So did your wife."

"Yes." Oliver set the Mimosa down. "Yes, she did."

"So who says you need the Second Rainbow to keep doing it?" Oliver's countryman goaded him.

Oliver looked up at him, and Garren looked back. Oliver smiled, and a familiar spark came back into his eye.

"I did it myself after the Wars. I did it in the Second Rainbow. Now you're asking me to go it alone again." Oliver smirked. "Good things come in threes."

The philanthropist stood up and held the partially imbibed mimosa out to Garren. "Take this back for me. I won't be needing the rest."

"Yes, sir." Garren grinned, placing it back on his serving tray. "Would you like anything else?"

"Bring me a cup of coffee." Oliver Xanthos remarked, walking amidships to the stairwell. "I'll be in the bridge."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_June 7__th__, 2067 C.E._

_Mid-Morning_

"I still can't believe we're doing this with Blues still online." Dr. Wily complained. Complaining seemed to be one of the things he lived for, and their prized robot gave him ample opportunity to vent. It didn't stop him from connecting a direct power feed from their laboratory's deep cycle geothermal battery supply into a parallel socket along the side of Protoman's waist.

"I'm right here, you know." Blues reminded the grouchy roboticist.

"And you're still wearing those stupid glasses." Wily looked down at Blues, and Blues met his gaze evenly. Wily rolled his eyes and looked across the operating table to Dr. Light. "I can't believe this. I'm having a staring contest with a robot."

"It's a brave new world, Al." Dr. Light pulled up an impact screwdriver and gave it a quick rev. "And don't call those glasses stupid. They're mine, after all. Or they were, back when I wasn't so fat. Blues, long as you're up, I want you to give us system diagnostics when we ask for them."

"I think I can manage that." Blues nodded. He was careful to lay flat, so as to not disturb their work, or cause undue systems damage. "The external power feed is connected and operating smoothly. Do you want me to disengage the rechargeable solar cells?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Light set the impact screwdriver down on his tool tray and rolled it beside the operating bed. He looked down at another densely packed battery the size of his two fists, waiting to be installed. "We've got the new module ready to go here."

"Power feed's stable, Tom." Wily looked down from the monitor above the operating bed. "If we're going to do it, let's get started."

"All right." Light agreed. He reached over and set his hand down on Protoman's chest. "Blues, you may feel a slight pinch when we open you up, but it won't be as intense as your pain response."

"I've never _had_ a pain response." The robot offered with a thin smile. Whether he offered it to reassure them, or reassure himself, Light didn't know. "I'm ready."

Light slid his hand across the center mass of Protoman's torso. The deliberate motion created a momentary static charge between his hand and the synthskin underneath, and the faintest edge appeared. "Magnetic seals are looking good." Light complimented the robot. "You'd hardly know there was a flap here if you weren't trying."

"That _was_ the general idea." Wily said.

Light pulled the flap of synthskin down towards Protoman's false navel, revealing a reinforced metallic endoskeleton underneath. An access port roughly the same dimensions as the synthskin's opening lay underneath.

Light pushed down on it, and the hatch of reinforced titanium lifted up after him, flipping to the side on a springloaded hinge. The glowing innards of Blues stared up at him through the portal, with glistening diodes and organized, but thick ropes of wires.

In the middle of the bird's nest inside of Blues was the complex, miniaturized assembly of his power generator. Feeds coming from all his limbs and his torso fed into it, and the generator itself was attached by hardpoint connectors to the double-fisted sized rechargeable solar fuel cell.

Blues pivoted his head left and right, sizing up the reactions of the two scientists. "See anything you like?" He deadpanned.

"He just told another joke, Tom." Wily grumbled.

"Yes, a good one." Light chortled. "Any irregularities so far, Blues?"

"Systems nominal." Blues glanced down at his open chest. "The solar cell is offline; power generator is running on hardline feed only."

"Okay then." Light reached his hands into the robot's chest. "I'm pulling it out. Ready?"

"I've **been** ready." Blues replied, his reaction hidden behind his sunglasses. "Please finish the operation. It should be simple."

Light took a moment to examine his tired hands, which were showing faint lines of wrinkles at long last. He shook his head and put the disturbing thought out of his mind. He had to stay focused on the task at hand.

The solar fed battery pack detached from the hardpoints and popped out from the restraining clamps. Weighing about six pounds, the power cell didn't seem menacing at all.

"Solar cell is removed." Light announced. He kept it in one hand and set it down, careful to not mix up the old one with the new. "I'm putting in the new cell."

Light began to lower the new solar cell down into the socket, but quickly pulled his hands back when a sparking arc of electricity snapped from the hardpoints at the base and careened into his hands.

"Son of a…!" Light hissed, managing to set the power cell down while his hands spasmed. "Blues, what was that?!"

The robot now wore a strained expression behind his sunglasses, most of that having to do with the unintentional harm that he'd caused his Creator. Thankfully, resilience was built into the Core Module for just that reason, and whatever pain the momentary overheating of his pathways had given him faded. "I…A power spark. From my generator. It didn't hurt you, did it?"

"No, it just surprised me." Light reassured him. "But that's not supposed to happen."

"I…" Blues fumbled for an explanation, running a diagnostic with so much of his processing power that he had to stop speaking. Three and a half seconds passed before he said something again. "My generator is…"

"I see it, I see it!" Wily cut in hurriedly. He pulled his diagnostics screen closer and shook his head. "Damn, damn! The generator's pulling too much power from the feeds. The excess is bleeding off everywhere!"

"I'm…" Blues started to shake. "Systems over…loading…"

"Tom, we have to yank the feed, NOW!"

"If we do that, he'll power down!" Light exclaimed.

"We don't have a choice!" Wily bellowed. A faint whine from Blues' circuits started to drone in the air. "If we keep him online, his entire body might fry. And if you put in the new pack now, it'd blow up in our face from the overload!"

Caught with an unknown variable on his hands, stuck between his oath and the situation, Light hesitated.

"Blues, shut down!" Wily ordered the robot, saying what Light couldn't bring himself to.

In a panic, Blues looked from Wily to Light. "Shut down? But, dad, you promised me! You said that…"

"I know what I said, but Al's right. We can't risk it. Blues, power down! That's an order!" Light finally snapped. He reached down and pulled Protoman's sunglasses off, staring into his creation's eyes. "Now!"

Protoman's voice snapped off in the next gurgling protest, and the whine from his body began to fade out.

A dullness filled his eyes as the light behind them dimmed, and with the last moments of activation he had, Blues looked up at Light with a stricken expression.

"You promised…you…prom…ised."

The last bit of light left him, and Protoman's mechanical body slumped lifelessly on the table.

Wily quickly jerked the power feed out of his arm and tossed the cable to the ground. "Unbelievable." He brushed his hands against the outside of his coat and fixed his red tie. "Of all the things that could go wrong. Now we've got to go in and…"

Wily stopped speaking, seeing that Light hadn't moved. The portly robotologist stared unblinking at the robot's face. "Tom?" Wily stepped around the operating table and shook his friend's sleeve. "Tom, come on."

Dr. Light stirred and glanced up. "Yeah?"

"Look, something went wrong. It happens. At least now we can go in and figure out what it is."

"I guess." Light admitted. He picked up the new solar battery and looked at it for a moment. "But I made him a promise."

"He's a robot, Tom." Wily reminded him. "He doesn't have feelings."

"Right then, Al…" Light replied, looking back down at a now deactivated Blues, "…I think he did."

He plugged the new solar battery into the slot and felt it click home. He brushed a hand through Protoman's raven locks of hair and set the sunglasses back over the robot's eyes. "I'm sorry." He apologized. "I'm so sorry."

Behind him, Wily watched with wide, horrified eyes, and swallowed his panic.

In spite of his warnings, Light had finally anthropomorphized their robots to a dangerous extreme. Now there would be no going back.

For either of them.

* * *

_European Fusion Research Institute_

_Aberdeen, Scotland_

_June 10__th__, 2067 C.E._

_10:42 P.M._

"Look, I canna understand why you came out all this way just to talk to me about something I never really cared about in the first place." Dr. Bailey Flynn complained. He handed two pairs of protective goggles to the EFRI's visitors, then marched through the swinging doors that separated the building's offices to the more expansive laboratory. A wash of noise blasted the two newcomers dead in the face, but Dr. Jane and Mick Jannsen quickly recovered.

"How can you _not_ care?" Mick argued, following the physicist out. "Everyone has an opinion, one way or…"

"Ach, would ye put your glasses on?!" Dr. Flynn snapped, whirling around with a flare of his lab coat. "We've got highly sensitive, _highly reactive _equipment in here! One errant flash of protonic disintegration and your retinas'll be shot."

Mick blinked, then did as he was told. "Better?"

"Aye, ye look a fair sight more decent now." The goggled Flynn turned about and kept walking. "Look, I don't care about the politics." He drew the about out in a long drawl, making it sound like _'abuuut'_. "I never have, never will. It's a damned shame about the Rainbow bein' put in its current position, but we all still have jobs to do. And right now, that means I have to stay exactly where I am. After decades o' trying, we finally have reliable fusion. It's still a far cry from where we need it to be if we're to completely solve the energy crisis, though, and _that_ weighs far more heavily on me mind than whether or not I consider meself Tech or Anti-Tech."

"You say you don't care, but your position would seem to indicate that you're of the Tech faction." Dr. Jane surmised coolly.

"Aye, and ye're either in a really foul mood today, or you're just this much of a bitch all the time." Dr. Flynn countered, zinging the acerbic woman. "Look, does it _really_ matter? Nobody even in the Rainbow **came up** with those terms. It was the lousy press that did it, and now ye're all sucking it down like the words of God. Last time I checked, we all still worked on the same team. We did a decade ago when we made SKYLIGHT. You, Jannsen, I remember you were one of the people who double checked me figures for all the fusion generators we've got up there." He made his way around a worktable where one of the other physicists was running some calculations that made Dr. Jane's head spin.

"Yes, I was." Jannsen admitted, a little more understanding than Jane was about past triumphs. "But we're at the start of a disturbing trend. We're relying too much on technology."

"Aye, I'd agree on that." Flynn shrugged easily. "It doesn't change what I do, or what I believe."

"And what do you believe?" Dr. Jane prodded.

Amidst the sounds of humming nuclear fusion reactions, sparks of light from all corners of the room, and the clattering of keystrokes, the Scotsman who had been the first to crack nuclear fusion smiled and closed his eyes.

"Ye can't predict the future, lass. Ye can only ride it out."

* * *

_Andes Mountain Range_

_Chilean Province, South America_

_June 12__th__, 2067 C.E._

_2:58 P.M._

Guilt was by far the strongest emotion Dr. Wily carried anymore outside of fear. Most of that guilt, currently, came from the secrecy of this. He'd partially lied to Light when he said he was traveling to South America to do a hands-on performance review of the maintenance robots in the Amazon Treeborg Preserve; he had for a day, but most of his time after had been spent making the tedious, and secretive trek southwest. Secretive was the key word in all of it; He'd picked this location precisely because he knew that spy satellites didn't pass over and glance down at the mountain range. There was nothing of strategic importance here. No resources, no farmland. Just high, jagged peaks and mesas, and a chill wind untouched by the heat of the jungles far below.

All the things that made it useless to everyone else made it perfect for him.

Wily stood by the foundation of the largest construction project he'd ever seen. The size of the structure before him easily dwarfed the much more conservative Second Rainbow Headquarters…

Or it would, when it was finished.

Hundreds of LightTech robots, KIFs and Metools and even some of the prototype "Big Eyes" bustled over the worksite. As Wily watched impassively, the Big Eyes used their massive bulk, designed to compact trash and rubble, to smash down and firm up the foundations. Given that the mountain would eventually have to support thousands of tons of steel, it would take more than a crushed, flat surface.

Pickman robots worked alongside Joes and Metools, burrowing deep into the rock with pickaxe, with plasma torch, and with bare metallic fists. By the time they were done, labyrinthine corridors would be established underground and out of sight. Sewage drains, power conduits, and the living heart of his great construction project would be put in through them, coiling around the support struts. Already, thick tunnels led down to five massive fusion generators, all currently hooked up to recharge ports for the robotic workforce, and more importantly…

The Stable Matter Synthesis Module, the size of a small house, which converted the excavated rubble into the materials needed at the subatomic level.

A wind kicked up, and Wily held his black longcoat closed by his neck. He grimaced and looked over his shoulder to a thick gray cloud full of rain and thunder. It was still an hour off, by his reckoning. Time enough for the work crews to retreat into the tunnels they'd already bored out and hunker down until it blew over.

"Anything worth doing is worth doing well." Wily told himself. Countless times since he'd started shunting supply orders out here secretly, he'd questioned the validity of this. The worth, or perhaps the intent.

It seemed simple enough. Oliver Xanthos, the infamous Mr. X, had survived the Wars of 2040 by escaping the world and fleeing to its far corners, building up supplies in secrecy that he had then turned around and used to help the Second Rainbow.

He wasn't really doing anything tremendously different, the 'mad scientist' reasoned for the hundredth time. Sure, the project may have been cutting in to LightTech's bottom line slightly, but a large portion of this was being done through his private funds. When this was finished, he would have a facility, a new home really, where he could live out the rest of his life in the peace and solitude he'd wanted since the start of the Wars.

And so would Light. A new home for them both.

"A man's home is his castle." He said aloud, realizing immediately after how **good** that sounded.

Wily smiled and tightened his coat. A castle. That or a fortress, but…

A Castle sounded better.

Light didn't know about this, and it would be some time yet before this was finished. Three years, optimistically. Maybe by then, Light would get over his fixations and realize the truth. Wily wished that would be the case. Light spent so much time in the sun, he never saw the shadows that loomed behind him because of it. As things were now, Wily couldn't tell him about this. Light wouldn't understand it.

Something was coming. Scarred by the fires of human nature and warfare, Wily vowed afresh it would not claim him again. Beyond rebuilding the world, beyond the vows he'd taken…

Even beyond the one true friendship that had defined the course of his life…

Dr. Albert Wily was a survivor.

A rumble of thunder brought him out of his thoughts and back to the worksite in the unexplored wilderness. The robots kept working emotionlessly, unceasingly, to the goal he had programmed them with. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced around worriedly.

"Maybe one castle isn't enough."

* * *

_June 20__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:21 P.M._

Activation.

Power flowed through his circuits, and his systems immediately began running startup diagnostics. They complained at the long period of inaction. Coming out of stasis was one thing. Pulling up from a cold systems restart was like drowning in oil, everything slippery and sluggish. He struggled for life, but could do nothing to speed it along.

Behind closed eyelids, Blues watched the timestamp crawl across his retinas. A sense of disbelief took hold.

_No. There's no way I was inactive for…_

"Two weeks?" He mumbled, his vocal synthesizer a little rougher than normal after the long period of inactivity.

A noise thumped nearby, and Blues shot upright. He opened his eyes and glanced around, noticing briefly how he was once again wearing his black sunglasses.

"Ahhh!" Light jumped back with a small cry. "Blues, you scared the daylights out of me!"

The robot stared down his creator, and a wave of intense emotions passed through his positronic matrix. They clashed briefly within his Core Module, and his monitoring software put up a warning about a spike in the head of his neural pathways.

For the first time in his life, Blues was angry. He felt hurt, betrayed, and he was angry.

"You promised." He said lowly, not wanting to risk a shout.

Father and mechanical son shared a long look. Light finally broke the moment, turning away in shame.

"I did. I told you that I wouldn't take you offline, and I did. And I'm sorry."

"Apologies don't change actions." Blues answered. "You did what you did. You _ordered_ _me_ to shut down. Even though you knew my opinion on it."

"It won't happen again." Light said.

Blues threw his arms up in the air. "How can you promise that, Light?!" A hard, jagged edge carried on his tone and slashed through the air. "How can you promise anything like that _ever_?"

"Look, this time was different!" Light exclaimed. "Your generator was going haywire. If we'd kept you online, you would have suffered irreparable damage. You might have even gone offline permanently!"

"You don't know that for sure." Blues seethed.

"Yes, and neither do you!" Light snapped back. The robotologist took a moment to compose himself, then spoke in a softer voice. "Blues, I did what I did to save you. If that means I had to break a promise to do it, then that's a decision I'll live with. I don't like it, but knowing you're still alive will help me to sleep at night."

Blues lifted his sunglasses up into his black hair and rubbed at his eyes. The gesture was one he'd seen Light use many a time when the old man seemed frustrated.

He sighed. "Did you at least find out what was the problem with my solar battery?"

Light brought a hand up and set it consolingly on the robot's knee. "I took it apart and examined every piece of it. It wasn't your battery at all, Blues."

The robot pulled his hand away from his eyes and stared at his creator. "What?"

Light shook his head. "It's your power generator."

Blues pivoted his legs off of the operating table and hopped down. It took him a moment to recover his balance, but then he turned and looked up at Light. "How? I wasn't picking up any irregularities."

"That's because there aren't any. Yet." Light offered. "The simple fact is, your body requires more power to operate than your solar cells were designed to provide. Your generator's been working beyond optimum to keep you going. The reason you haven't picked up on it is because the stresses are still below detectable range."

"So you're saying that…" Blues grasped for a phrase, picking through hundreds of different choices and disregarding them just as quickly. "…My generator is going to fail?"

"Not for a while, but yes." Light nodded. "That's why I waited so long to reactivate you. I wanted to make sure. I did every test I could think of. It won't be today, or a year from now. It might be five years, or ten, if we're lucky. But eventually, your power supply will fail. I can keep swapping out your batteries, and making minor tweaks to try and improve your power efficiency, but your generator _will_ fail."

Blues tightened his lips together. "I see. And you can't replace the generator, can you?"

"Not without taking you completely offline again, no." Light exhaled. "And I'm not even sure I'd want to just put another solar generator in you anyways. The technology was too new. Too many unknowns."

"So why didn't you give me something more basic, then? Or something more reliable?" Blues demanded. "I mean, you had me offline for two weeks. What would a third one have been?"

"I could have, yes." Light nodded. "But every time I thought about doing it…I realized I couldn't. Not without asking you. It's your life, after all. It should be your decision."

"Hmph." The remark made Blues crack a smile. "Strange. You break a promise and deactivate me to save my life, but you ask my opinion about how to keep me going?"

Light shrugged. "That's the human condition, I suppose."

"If I could make an observation, Light?" Blues questioned. When the old man nodded, the robot folded his arms. "Being human is a pain in the neck."

Dr. Light let off a relieved laugh. "That it is. But we manage. So what do you want me to do, Blues?"

The robot readjusted his sunglasses, then gave his head a shake. "Leave it alone for now. You've done enough poking and prodding inside of me to last for a while."

"But your generator…"

"Is flawed." Blues cut him off. "But it won't kill me for a while. I need to think about this, Light. Give me time. There's enough of that."

The robot waited expectantly for another retort, or perhaps even another glibly given order that would go against his wishes.

Instead, Light simply offered up a sad smile. "Why do you call me by my last name instead of dad?"

"Fathers respect their children's wishes." Blues replied. "When you prove to me that you can do that, then you'll earn the title again."

He marched out of the laboratory and into the house proper, pausing when he heard the front door open. Blues walked to see who it was, then gave a respectful nod when he saw Dr. Wily, looking drawn, sunburned, and weary, stepping inside with a briefcase in his hand.

"Welcome home, Doctor Wily."

"Right, right." Wily muttered, not bothering to look at him. "I see you're back up and around. Feeling all right?"

"For the moment, systems are nominal." The robot said. "How was your trip to the Amazon Treeborg Preserve?"

"Enlightening." The mad scientist said curtly. "Tell Tom I'm heading to my room. I'm jet-lagged, and I just want to sleep."

"I'll make sure you aren't disturbed." Blues promised.

The mad scientist paused and looked at him again.

The look of respect seemed almost genuine. "Thank you, Blues." Wily went to his room, and Blues found himself alone once more.

Alone, but online. That much was optimal.

In a house where one of his creators had broken his word and the other bounced between derision and gratitude…

Perhaps solitude was the best choice.

* * *

_Somewhere in Northern England_

_June 22__nd__, 2067 C.E._

_11:49 P.M._

A drizzle had caused the temperature to drop earlier in the night, and a low fog loomed all around, cutting visibility down to a quarter of a mile.

Perfect conditions, all things considered, for a rendezvous that its conspirators didn't want seen.

"So this is it, then?" One man asked the other four in a thick, Australian voice. "Doesn't seem like much. Just a lot of open countryside."

"Appearances." The leader of the band chastised him coolly. He held out an arm and gestured through the fog. "People _expect_ to see rolling pastures, marred by sheep and the elements. Geological surveys done by our sympathizers in the Second Rainbow revealed that there was a natural cavern structure underground. With some work and a little more hollowing out, we can establish a base of operations out of sight from the public eye."

The leader lowered the collar of his overcoat and glanced back at the other four. "That _was_ the plan, I believe?"

"Yeah, but that could take years." The Australian complained, sneezing from the chill in the night air. "We should just quit the Rainbow now."

The leader rolled his eyes. "Jannsen, there's a reason I'm in charge of this movement. You never understood the finer points of planning. If we left the Rainbow now, it would just do more harm than good. For the moment, we still need the group, and that means keeping our options open."

"Ye know, you've been awfully slow to react through this whole mess." Jannsen said accusingly. "You sure you're with us?"

"If you'd phrased that even _slightly_ different, I would've flattened you." The leader growled. "And you know I can. As it is, you can shut up and listen. For what we're planning, what we intend, we'll have to move slowly. A buildup of decades. Two, at least: More, conservatively. Doing anything secretively requires patience and adds time. You never learned the value of patience, but I have. It's the Japanese way, after all…You make plans for the future. Short ones, long ones, and then you have backups. And you _never_ let your emotions get the best of you."

"You don't seem to ascribe to that theory in the General Assembly." A woman in the cadre of four said. "You're all fire and venom as a politician."

"Yes, and because people think I wear my emotions on my sleeve, they never bother trying to dig deeper than what I say. The best cover is hiding in plain sight." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Now, any other burning questions?"

None came, and their leader nodded. "The Second Rainbow was a good idea. Fix the world by doing, by using, what we needed to. It just didn't go far enough."

In the fog, his eyes blazed into the heart of darkness. "We will."

* * *

_Narita International Airport_

_June 24__th__, 2067 C.E._

_10:21 A.M._

Titus Grant came off of the flight jet-lagged and hung over. First Class had supplied him with all the complimentary alcoholic beverages he would have ever wanted, and the Australian had partaken heavily.

"Ohhh, crikey." In his rumpled business suit, he emerged from the deporting tunnel and into the baggage claims area. He glanced around for his chauffeur amidst the sea of faces, and blinked when he finally located one individual holding up a sign with his name on it.

Titus made his way over to the young Japanese man. "Oi, you're not my usual driver. Where's Maho?"

The driver shook his head and answered in accented English. "Maho is on personal leave. I am Kenta, _Guranto-San._"

"Call me Titus." The Australian said. "I've got too much of a headache for anything more serious than that. Can you grab my bag when it comes around?"

"A robot will bring it out to your vehicle. It has been registered with the car's ID."

"The miracles of modern living." Titus chuckled weakly. Kenta opened a path through the crowd, and Titus followed him out through the terminal.

Six minutes later, Kenta closed the passenger door on the company sedan which ferried the CEO of LightTech to and fro. Titus let out a long sigh and sank into his seat.

Kenta sat in the driver's seat and pulled it shut; softly, as to not jar the CEO's nerves. "A long trip, sir?"

Titus buckled himself in and shut his eyes. It was easier to ignore the pounding in his head when daylight wasn't jarring him full on. "Yeah, but these tours to the overseas factories usually are. Comes with the territory. Think you can take me home?"

"Certainly, sir. Where do you live again?"

Titus filled him in, then yawned. "So how long you been a driver, Kenta?"

"I have been a driver for eight years now. I work for a company who hires me out to people who require substitute chauffeurs. They called me yesterday for today's assignment."

"Well, glad to meet you." Titus said dozily. He felt himself slipping out as the electric car moved forward and out of the parking garage. "Boy, I'm wiped out."

"Was it a productive trip, Mr. Titus?"

"Yeah, I'd say so." The Australian murmured. "Tom and Al oughta be happy."

Kenta blinked at that. "You mean, Doctor Light and Doctor Wily? You know them?"

"Yeah, we go way back, the three of us. All the way back to when the Second Rainbow wasn't even the Second Rainbow yet."

"So what would make them happy, then?"

"Their company's doing just fine, and they didn't have to worry about it." Titus yawned again, softer than before. "That's how they like it…so they can…keep making…new…"

"New robots?" Kenta finished with a chuckle.

Lulled into a stupor from the vibrations of the road and his own fatigue, Titus settled in deeper, reaching out only to hit the dimmer switch on his windows.

"Thinking robots." He mumbled, as he finally caved in to his need for sleep. "Change the world."

Lost to the land of dreams, Titus Grant didn't see Kenta's face darken as they reached the main highway that led into Tokyo. He didn't see the driver reach into his breast pocket and pull out a small wireless earpiece, or put it on and make a call. Most importantly, he didn't hear the driver speak.

"We have a problem."

* * *

_SRHQ_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_July 1__st__, 2067 C.E._

_9:32 A.M._

Director Paul Van Hostick leaned back from his desk and sighed. The note he was typing seemed heavier than any other he'd sent out, save one: The Omega Event warning he'd sent out in 2055 to call the Rainbow together because of Epoch.

This note lacked the flair of a Category 5 event, but was still powerful. In spite of everything Director Hostick had done, the Second Rainbow had finally split. Thanks to the News Media, the two sides even had names.

The Tech Faction.

The Anti-Tech Faction.

On one side were those who built, developed, and advocated the continuing use of technology as the end-all solution; Light, Wily, Yoshi, Belkin, Xiang, Han, and Samas, to name a few. That didn't include the fringe loyalists, like Hyrmue.

On the other side were those who wanted to put a stop to the march of technology and change the focus to building on humanity's potential and purpose; Jane, Beskin, Fezhim, Cossack, Pellero, Saladin, M'Tumbe, Menendez, and certainly Vinkus.

Of the group of 150 scientists, physicists, engineers, botanists, and technicians who worked under the Second Rainbow's banner, the cut went right down the middle, with a handful having openly stated they didn't care about either side, as long as the job got done. Or the disenfranchised…like Xanthos.

And where was he in all of this, the Director asked himself? When he'd taken over the job and freed Vinkus to be the U.N. Representative alone once more, he recalled that Vinkus had told him, _"It's your job to try and make everyone play nice."_ And had he?

Or had he only made things worse?

"God." Hostick pinched at the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. "I'm standing in the middle and the chasm's opening beneath me."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and stared at his message again. It had been flagged as a "Mail to All" entry.

_**Members of the Second Rainbow,**_

_** As everyone now knows, the press believes that the Second Rainbow is now a divided group, standing on its last legs. I believe, as I think many of you all do, that this is an exaggerated lie. It is also a harmful one that damages our standing in the eyes of the public and other institutions. There is still much we have left to do, and I believe that there are ways we can still accomplish our goals of preserving and restoring the world in spite of our cutbacks. **_

_** But if we are to move forward, then it must be done as a **__group.__** To that end, I am calling upon the powers of my office as Director of the Second Rainbow to recall every active member back to Ewan Lake. In six days' time, we will have a general conference.**_

"Not enough." Hostick told himself, and set to work typing a better conclusion.

_**Twenty years ago, we came together as humanity's last best hope. What we have done in these two decades can be called nothing short of miraculous. That alone, the potential we have, gives me the confidence to believe that we are not done yet. With all the brilliant minds in our group, I know we can find a solution together we can all move forward with. I look forward to the conference, and to seeing all of you again.**_

_** -Director Paul Van Hostick**_

He paused for a moment longer, hand over the return key which would send the message out around the world…

Then punched it, with all the force and determination he felt in his heart.

**Message sent.**

Director Van Hostick got up from his chair and walked to the large window overlooking the SRHQ's courtyard below.

Summers in Alaska were beautiful. Hostick smiled.

"Six days." He whispered.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_July 4__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:13 A.M._

"Now, you and Eddie keep an eye on things until we get back." Light told Blues. He was struggling with his travel suitcase, as it wouldn't completely shut. "Gah…come on…"

Blues walked over and calmly pressed down on the lid. With more force than the old man could bring to bear, the robot managed to shut the antiquated luggage's lid and snap the locks into place. "We'll keep the house operational while you're gone." Blues answered calmly. He was still wearing his sunglasses, and in truth, hadn't taken them off in days. "Why are you packing so much luggage anyhow?"

"Will and I really don't spend a lot of time at the SRHQ like we used to. I figured I'd bring along some gifts for the folks who run the shop there. Besides, you think my suitcase is full, you should see what he's bringing with him."

Dr. Wily stuck his head into the doorway of Light's bedroom. "Say, Tom, have you seen my whoopee cushion and joy buzzer?"

Light grinned and winked at Blues. "See what I mean?" He looked back to Wily. "Check the second desk drawer at your lab workstation. You used the whoopee on me a week ago."

"Oh, right, right." Wily muttered absentmindedly, vanishing from sight with a shake of his head.

"What would he need a whoopee cushion for in Alaska?" Blues asked. "It has no practical use."

"I suppose you'd have to understand the human emotion of embarrassment for it to make sense." Light sighed. "Unfortunately, I couldn't program you to interpret fart jokes. Or give you a sense of humor. That, you'll have to pick up on your own through trial and error, if you can."

Blues tilted his head to the side. "If I can. I don't have emotions, remember?"

"You say you don't, Blues, but I know you do. You've begun to develop them, and the sooner you admit that, the more you'll grow as a per…"

Light stilled, and Blues raised his eyebrows over the rims of his sunglasses. "As a person?"

The scientist blinked several times. "…Yeah. I guess I said that, didn't I?"

Blues took a second to restore his outer expression of indifference, then shook his head. "You'd better hurry up, then. Don't want you to be late for your flight."

"Right." Relieved, Light let the awkward moment slip by and went on with his business. "Now, if the phone rings, just let it go to the answering machine. If any other packages come in, go ahead and sign for them. And if anyone from LightTech drops by…"

"I know, I know." Blues cut him off. "Pretend nobody's home. You went over this with me already."

"It never hurts to make sure." Light hoisted his suitcase up from the bed and looked down at the robot who seemed like any other ten year old boy. Who wore sunglasses. "Would you like us to bring you back anything?"

Blues stared at him. "Wait. That was a joke, right?"

Light chuckled and ruffled Protoman's synthetic hair. "Maybe there's hope for you after all. We'll see you in a few days, Blues."

"I'll be here." Blues grunted, fixing his hair as Light walked out.

The two scientists met at the front door, with Wily adorned in a comically oversized sombrero with tassels. Light opened the door. "Bringing your beer drinking hat, I see?"

"Bringing the stick up your ass, I see." Wily countered, blowing his friend a raspberry. "Come on, it's a road trip!"

"Yeah, I think we need roads for that." Light made a face.

Blues and Eddie hovered back in the middle of the living room, watching the two bicker. Almost as an afterthought, Wily glanced back at them. "Don't burn the place down."

"Hm. I hadn't thought about doing that." Blues said thoughtfully. He made a shooing gesture with his hand. "Get going. Things will be fine here."

"Never doubted they would be!" Wily replied. It took another half minute longer for the two to finally walk out of the front door and close it behind them.

The Fliptop and the Advanced robot in the house of Light stood in silence as the noise of the small electric golf cart Light and Wily used to go from their house to the nearby train station whirred into the distance and faded out.

Blues looked down, and Eddie looked up. Blues lifted his sunglasses and the two blinked at each other. Eddie chirped a line of expectant binary, and Blues smiled at the question.

"What do you mean, what do we do now? We've got the house to ourselves for a few days. What do you think we should do?"

In response, Eddie flipped his lid up and activated his digital jukebox.

The thumping bass drum of Kool and The Gang's _Celebration_ blared out with full force.

Blues rolled his eyes and slipped his glasses back on. "Trying to be funny, are you?"

Eddie beeped an indignant reply, and Blues harrumphed. "Well, all right. I'll admit it was a well thought selection. But no, I'm not dancing to it. I can't dance."

**Beep.**

"I can't sing, either."

_**Beep.**_

Blues frowned. "I don't have lungs, how could I do that?"

**Beep.**

The Advanced robot thought about it for a moment, shrugged, and tried, as Eddie had suggested.

His vocal synthesizer had been programmed to give him a voice, but it also allowed him to communicate with inflection, syntax, and various languages, including binary.

It took some cross-correlation with his memory banks, but after a few stumbling attempts…

Blues whistled along with the music.

Eddie paused the music and chirped at him again. Blues stopped his whistle. "Yeah, I agree. Doesn't really…synchronize. Guess I need some more practice."

**Beep.**

"Oh, go fragment yourself."

* * *

_SRHQ_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_July 5__th__, 2067 C.E._

_4:22 A.M._

"Hey, glad you fellas made it!" Oliver Xanthos was in high spirits as a beleaguered Light,Wily, and Grant crossed the courtyard of the SRHQ, bags in hand. The flight's duration was made worse by the fact they'd arrived in the dead of night, thanks to the time zone differential.

"_Now_ I remember why we don't come back as often as we used to." Wily groaned. "Just tell me they got our quarters cleaned up, Oliver. I'm ready to settle in for a nap."

"Oh no. You boys are staying with me." Xanthos shook his head. "I've got my old cabin situated, and the second bedroom is all yours. Hope you don't mind being bunkmates for a few nights…not that you weren't in your old quarters."

"Just as long as Tom doesn't snore like he usually does."

"I don't snore, you snore."

"You _both_ snore." Titus grunted. "But right now, I could care less. Just tell me there's a mattress and a pillow, and I'm happy."

"Oh, we've got that and more." Xanthos promised. "We'll go ahead and get you settled in, but I'll be waking you up around noon. Falafels and lamb all right with everyone?"

"Yeah, sure." Wily yawned. "Whatever sounds good to you, Oliver. Think you could have some wine with all of that?"

"Don't I usually?" The Grecian philanthropist chortled.

True to his word, the expansive cabin set slightly off the main property had been refurbished and restocked for the weekend. Mostly, the three technological marvels from Japan didn't notice it, and instead marched their way to the bedroom. Down went their bags, and soon after, down they went as well, collapsing on their pillows. Wily didn't even bother pushing the covers back.

Xanthos came in and checked on them a few minutes after they'd got settled in, a glass of Madeira in hand. He smiled and reached to the light switch by the doorway, then flipped it off.

"See you tomorrow, then." He said quietly, and shut the bedroom door behind him. He couldn't help but laugh a bit as he headed for his own chambers.

Titus Grant was right about Light and Wily.

They both snored.

* * *

_Human Supremacy League_

_Special Operations Command_

_Navajo Desert, New Mexico_

_July 6__th__, 2067 C.E._

"Well, gentlemen, I'd like to take this opportunity to congratulate you." Colonel Masters barked out. The recruits who'd been sent to train under him stood at attention, but one glance would have been enough to convince any bystander that this wasn't the same group who came in a month before. Their faces were gaunt and stretched. Their muscles were toned. Their eyes were hard. They had survived his training and come out stronger.

The old warhound kept a stoic posture. "At ease." As one, the men went to parade rest. Masters smiled for just a fraction of a second, and then let it vanish from his face at the speed of a blink. "Starting today, you're no longer my students. You are under my command as full-blooded soldiers in the Human Supremacy League's SpecOps."

"OORAH!" Came the bellowing roar, a holdover of Marine tradition Masters had adopted.

"Gentlemen, I have no idea what challenges lie ahead of us in the future." Masters went on, pacing up and down the line. "But I do know that I have trained you to the best of my ability, and that you _will_ succeed on whatever mission is given to you. The enemy is heartless and without blood, and it is because of that, they cannot win. A robot is a machine that does what it's programmed to. They can't adapt, or think on their feet. It is not the WEAPON that wins the battle, but the man who _uses it!"_

They stayed quiet. Colonel Masters readjusted his purple beret and saluted them. "Godspeed, gentlemen. Remember your training."

"Yes, _SIR!"_

"Dismissed." The six recruits saluted him back, then turned and marched out of the hangar. Masters imagined some of them would be reassigned to the Executor squadron soon enough; Walken had had his eye on this lot more keenly than others. Just as well; they went where they were needed.

Colonel Masters made his way through the base to the Intelligence Center, and paused in front of a flatscreen with a feed from a news team up in Alaska. The Second Rainbow was having a get-together to discuss their future plans and options, and the scuttlebutt was the group was heavily fragmented. Then again, it was a group of scientists, free thinkers all with their own beliefs and ideas, with a very loose hierarchy.

For that reason alone, a failed chain of command, Colonel Masters harbored the personal belief that they wouldn't endure much longer than they had. Scientists weren't soldiers. They hated taking orders.

Just as well they weren't under his command. He probably would have had half of them shot.

* * *

_SRHQ_

_July 7__th__, 2067 C.E._

_1:57 P.M._

Twelve years ago, the coalition of Earth's greatest minds had come to the SRHQ's expansive auditorium to discuss how to prevent the end of the world.

Now, as that same pantheon of thinkers filed in, each knew the stakes were personally higher. Conversations were carried out in muted tones, glances were exchanged. Most worrying of all was how they sat; small groups, dotted all around the chamber, with space between them.

Director Van Hostick's eyes searched the room and picked Darwin Vinkus out of the crowd. Even the supposedly impartial U.N. Representative sat blended in with the mess.

Vinkus met Hostick's gaze with a quiet, relaxed glance, and then casually swept his eyes elsewhere.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Paul Beskin asked him.

Vinkus absorbed the question from the aging American meteorologist and answered without turning to the man sitting behind him. "When a crab dies in a holding bin, the poisons can kill all the others stuck with it." Vinkus tapped on his wrist. "There will be no better opportunity to dump this catch back into open waters than now. It's the only way some who share our views can be preserved."

"But…Breaking the Second Rainbow apart? Sacrificing our position here?" Beskin prodded worriedly.

"You don't play much Chess, do you Paul?" Darwin blinked. "Never be afraid of giving up your queen. It's just a piece. Not the game." Vinkus smiled, a triumphant expression of knowing. "The news may very well break us apart, but it will also unify those who were hesitant to join our cause. There is no safe middle ground in a revolution."

"You must have been a Hell of a tactician in the Wars."

Vinkus let the compliment go unanswered. His attention turned to the auditorium's rear left entrance, where five familiar faces appeared. Two of them, he knew, weren't even true members anymore.

With Light and Xanthos leading, Wily, Grant, and the former Rainbow member Ezriah Hyrmue took up the rear of the pack. Light felt the faces of all in the auditorium fall on him when he strolled in. Refreshed after two days of good company, reminiscing, and quality grub, he smiled under the storm.

"This must be how rock stars feel." Light bemusedly offered.

"I always thought you had one of those faces." Xanthos shrugged. "Like it or not, Dr. Light, you and Dr. Wily are more famous than almost everyone else here."

"Fame doesn't always breed friendship." Hyrmue noted. "Some of these faces looking at us aren't exactly sociable. Let's hurry up and get to our seats, shall we?"

They went about halfway down the nearest aisle and moved to join a broadly smiling Dr. Flynn. The Scotsman was all Gaelic charm as he moved to the side to let them in.

"Ach, would ye look at the lot of you? Don't fash yourself, come on, smile a bit. It's a reunion, after all!"

"So it is." Hyrmue chuckled. He went down a row in the middle and turned around. "Though, I'll admit that I was surprised to even get an invitation, considering how I haven't been a contracted member since…well, forever."

"True, but you've still been helping the Reconstruction since then." Xanthos explained. "Hostick may not want me throwing money at our problems, but he's level-headed enough to know not to leave out another thinker in the process."

Wily turned to Flynn. "So, Bailey, how are things over in the EFRI? Busy as always?"

"Aye, aye." The physicist nodded. "Ah'm trying to find a way to create fusion on a smaller scale, and without the Tritium that the larger ones need."

"Oh, I see." Light joked. "You're trying to make the lunar mining robots that LightTech and Sennet produce obsolete, aren't you?"

"As long as I rely on expensive materials, fusion will never become a truly feasible power source. But if I'm right, this new "Micro-Fusion" design of mine could make the difference."

"Microfusion, eh?" Wily feigned curiosity, and he leaned closer. He and Light had discussed working on the idea back when they'd first activated Blues, but hearing that Flynn was already started on it was exciting enough he didn't have to try very hard. "Fusion without a need to keep adding fusionable material?"

Flynn smiled again. "Got your attention, didn't I?"

"Any chance we might get our hands on a model of that?" Light asked.

"Well, ah suppose that depends on what you'd want to do with it." Dr. Flynn drawled. "Ah can't have ye gettin' rich off o' me work, now."

"I was just thinking that we might use it in one of our robots." Light mused. "Sustainable, high energy power could solve a lot of problems we've been running into."

"Ach." Flynn made a made. "What're ye using, batteries?"

"No, solar power."

"Well, there's your problem!" Flynn held up his hands and pantomimed a scale. "Let's compare, shall we? Sunlight…The mother-fraykin' atom. No contest, lads! No wonder you're having problems. But I'll tell ye what. Ah never turn down help that's cheerfully offered, and I'm not one to think ye'd go stealin' me ideas to suit your own ends."

"Not after what happened with Corbun and SKYLIGHT, no." Wily clenched his teeth together. "I wish we'd never even invented plasma weapons technology. The world would be better off without it."

"The world would be dead without it." Light comforted his friend. He nodded to Flynn. "You have our promise that we will not misuse your trust."

"Aye." Flynn scratched at his chin, glancing up as the lights flickered. "Seems like we're finally all here. Guess Paul's gonna be starting the meeting now."

The small band of so-called "Tech Faction" scientists turned their attention towards the auditorium's stage, as did all the others.

Quiet fell over the room.

* * *

**"It's good to see all of you."** Director Paul Van Hostick began. His voice was amplified and projected all around. He raised his arms up in a sign of greeting and looked around the chamber, smiling with goodwill. **"It's been a very long time since we were all together like this. One thing that puts me at ease is that we didn't have Dr. Murges calling us for another Omega Event."**

Scattered laughter passed through the audience, and Felman Murges stood and waved sheepishly to all. Once he was sitting back down, Director Van Hostick went on. **"With that said, we still have problems we need to deal with. The primary concern, sadly, is money. Or a lack of it. We cannot sustain all our programs as they are with our reduced budget from the United Nations. I don't want to fire anyone, and I don't want to shrink the Second Rainbow. You've all come here to help solve the problems in front of us. I'll entertain any suggestions that don't include taking donations. We're an institution for mankind's betterment, not a charity case."**

"Well, that's a polite way of telling me I can stuff it." Xanthos muttered under his breath. Only those closest to him heard the remark.

Across the auditorium, a hand went up. "SKYLIGHT is our most remarkable accomplishment, but it's also the most expensive to maintain. We've done as much as we can with transport to it; the launch rail at Cape Canaveral helps with that. But maintaining a human crew aboard is still very costly. Maybe we should automate the station, place robots in charge of…"

"Oh, you can't be serious!" Another Rainbow member interrupted, with a host of grumbles following the remark. "_More_ robots? I don't feel at all comfortable putting robots in the driver's seat of that weapons platform. Besides that huge plasma cannon in it, it's packing enough smaller diffusive laser turrets and missile bays to cause a lot of havoc. And the Solar Cannon! SKYLIGHT's better off with humans at the controls, period! I don't want that thing turned around and pointed at Earth."

A rumble of agreement followed the argument, and Director Van Hostick raised his hand. **"Though it's been a while since we've discussed this, I just want to mention again that there's no possible way that SKYLIGHT could be maneuvered so its weapons systems faced the planet. When we built it, a failsafe was hardwired into the station's static operating memory core. It's designed to power down if it was ever repositioned to attempt it."** The Swede swept his eyes across the room. **"That said, I believe that our current crew aboard the station has performed admirably, and that the world is more at ease because of their presence. We'll leave SKYLIGHT alone. Any other ideas?"** He asked, changing the subject.

Professor Arctus Belkin, a Canadian member of the Rainbow that had revolutionized the weatherproofing of hydraulic systems, chimed in. "We've done a lot of good with our works projects here and there, and a lot of them are making money these days. Treeborgs, the World Power Plant…Hell, even the Treeborg Rainforest preserves. Individuals and companies are profiting from these developments. Maybe we should start up a tax for their use to help defray operating costs."

"You're going to tax my company? My product?" Hyrmue called out innocently. "How's that any different from me just giving the Rainbow a very large donation? You'll refuse what's freely given, but take it by force instead? Seems like we're splitting hairs there. Besides, doesn't my company already give the Second Rainbow huge discounts? You're getting the third tree free every time you buy two."

"Well, maybe taxing Treeborg Incorporated isn't the way to go about it…but we could certainly tax the loggers who use your merchandise, couldn't we?"

"This would set a dangerous precedent." Dr. M'Tumbe of Kenya offered gravely. "We are not a government. We are a coalition of scientists. What gives us the right to dictate what people should give us, to demand such a price? Taxes are determined by the governments of our nations. There is no international tax."

"Now, just wait a cotton' picking second here…" Another member started in.

Director Van Hostick slapped his hand on the top of his podium to restore order. **"No, I don't think that taxing anything would drive up very much support at all in the international community. Even in this group, we seem fairly divided on the issue. Dr. M'Tumbe is correct. We are **not** a government. It isn't our place to create taxes."**

"Well, if we can't tax the profits people make from our work, then how exactly are we going to make any money?" An exasperated Major Jenner asked. When she was just a Lieutenant in the Army Corps of Engineers during the early 2050's, Ellen Jenner had been responsible for a minor revolution in magneto drives that drastically improved the efficiency of repulsorcrafts. Older and wiser, the Alaskan native threw her hands up in the air. "If we can't accept donations, and we can't tax, then what do you suggest we do? Form our own company? Become a conglomerated interest? I'm sorry, but I'm not like some people who decided they'd get rich and live high on the hog from their inventions while the rest of us scrambled for scraps."

Light blinked at the accusation. "You think she's talking about us?" He softly asked Dr. Wily. The grizzled scientist twirled his mustache in reply and raised an eyebrow. Light hmphed. "Right. Stupid question."

"Perhaps if monetary donations are out of the question, a different sort of contribution might be given." Xanthos called out, trying to soothe rattled nerves and bruised egos. "Hyrmue already provides impressive discounts to the Second Rainbow in their endeavors. So too, do all the robotics firms whose products are used by this group. What if large supplies of material, in the form of constructs and supplies, were offered up instead? It would help to lessen expenditures."

"Oh, yes. That's the _perfect_ solution." Dr. Jane snarked. "Let's have _more_ robots, _more_ Treeborgs. More of all the technological monstrosities we're so tired of putting up with. How have they made life any better for us?"

"You have the gall to ask that?" Wily bristled. He stood on his feet and glared at the botanist with an intensity that made her shrink like a rose from a scorching summer sun. "When the wastelands covered with radioactive ash needed to be reclaimed, could humans have done it as safely or as quickly as robots? When SKYLIGHT needed to be built, to exacting specifications _and_ on a schedule, could humans have worked around the clock in Zero gravity and the vacuum of space? Look, I don't always think a robot is the ultimate solution, but it is **a** solution. And for you to disregard that only shows how out of touch you are, Flora. You haven't changed a bit since I knew you at the Institute. That was damn near thirty years ago, even."

"And what about the GAIDNs?" Dr. Jane demanded, throwing it back in Wily's face. "What about the warbots made by U.S. Robotics, armed with laser weapons and some even with plasma weapons? Do they make life any better? They threaten this world, they choke us off!"

"They keep this world running!" Wily insisted. "I'd love it if tomorrow all of humanity woke up and decided they'd finally decided to wise up and be mature enough to guide their own destinies. But you know as well as I do we're still the same flawed race we always were. Outside of this room is a world full of morons, and you only have to look as far as the United Nations and their idiotic downsizing of this group to realize that!"

"Now, now." Darwin Vinkus, who had been sitting near Dr. Jane in the crowd, finally rose and held his hands up placatingly. "I think we've had enough shouting for a bit. We're here to talk solutions and to have an open forum. Let's not go ridiculing each other's opinions in this auditorium, shall we?"

Up at the podium, Director Paul Van Hostick visibly relaxed. Darwin Vinkus had stepped up and was now serving as a voice of reason between two of the most conflicting personalities in the group. There was hope for the conference, after all.

Vinkus affixed Wily, and then Light, with soft stare before he pressed on, turning his eyes away. "Of course, Dr. Wily, you bring a valid point to bear in your own unique fashion. Technology has not made us any more civilized or advanced…wiser, you might say…as a species. As a whole, we remain as flawed as ever. Has the increase of technology made our lives more worthwhile? More fulfilling? Or has it separated us further? I would argue, in your line of thinking, that technology helped, and now continues to help, mankind ruin this world."

"You can't demonize the tool for the faults of man! Technology is what allowed us to save this world!" Thomas Xavier Light said forcefully.

"Technology is also what caused us to threaten it in the first place." Came Darwin's reply. "Technology has gone too far, Doctor Light."

"**Scheisse**, would you quit your overdramatic ramblings for one moment and listen to common sense?!!" Wily cut back in. His crazily unkempt gray hair danced about the bald spot of his head and he twitched his mustache in anger. "Technology is here, we live with it. We cannot take that away…not now. To do so would be to threaten humanity ITSELF!!" His remark smashed across the auditorium like a heavy stone in a silent pond. A hush scattered all the mutterings about.

"Wily, once more you prove your short fuse." Vinkus growled. The gray haired roboticist, more skilled in the construction of robotic bodies than minds simmered in his seat. "I think humanity could learn to live without all the gadgets we have now. Certainly, there are tools and technologies we cannot live without. Treeborgs, for one, and SKYLIGHT for another. Others, though, could easily be discarded. Such as the prevalence of robots in our world."

"Robots are prevalent because they are needed." Light insisted.

Vinkus shook his head, now falling back into his element. "No. Robots are prevalent because they are inexpensive labor who can be told to serve in difficult and dangerous jobs. Originally. Now, we even have robots who serve as crosswalk guards. Who serve food. Who take orders and handle merchandise at stores. And those jobs which once belonged to humans now no longer exist. Robots prevent the wealth of our world from dispersing amongst its inhabitants. A bitterness has risen up because of that. For all that we condemn the acts of terrorism that the Human Supremacy League commits, they are nonetheless indicative of a larger complaint. Robots have become too many. They are in too many places, doing too many things we used to do for ourselves. It is small wonder some people feel they are being replaced."

"They're not being replaced, Darwin." Light argued. He looked around the Auditorium, scrambling in his mind to figure out how they'd come to this point. "I mean…Look. Robots do not have what humans have. They don't search for the meaning of life, they don't have families, they don't even have true emotions."

A glint shone in Vinkus's eyes behind his glasses. Light saw it, and realized too late what it meant.

Darwin had been waiting for an opening, and he had just given it to him.

"True enough, Dr. Light. But my sources tell me that what you two have begun is the ultimate blasphemy…" Vinkus continued, pulling his spectacles off and rubbing them with a dry cloth before placing them back on his sharp, aquiline nose. "From what little I know, it seems you two are building a robot…that is supposed to be a man."

The uproar at that was immense. The Anti-Tech faction shouting angrily for answers, the Pro-Techs like Hyrmue applauding loudly to show their support. And caught in the middle with a pained gaze was Doctor Light, and with his own immobile frown, Doctor Wily.

The din finally settled back down, and Wily spoke up.

"So what if we are, Vinkus?" He challenged. "By now, you must realize that there are places on Earth that humans are ill suited for…If we were to design such a robot, with Asimov's Three Laws intact, yet with a far more intact mind than any robot ever before…what we would have is a robot that could work in the most inhospitable of conditions, commanding less sentient robots."

"What you propose…Is a Robot Master??" Vinkus whispered in frightened awe. The term was unfamiliar, but a rumble of discontent in the audience spoke to its power. "And how sentient…"

"Artificial intelligence is a hurdle that is the greatest yet to be faced…" Light continued, picking up for his associate. "What we hope to build is a robot who will have a personality, who will simulate emotion, who will…"

"A HUMAN ROBOT?!!" Vinkus sputtered.

The uproar in the Second Rainbow's great meeting hall began anew. Light buried his head in his hands, and Wily merely glared across the room to the damned 'Medievalists' who plagued their midst.

Dr. Jane jerked up out of her seat, her face bright red in anger. "This is your ultimate solution? Robots to replace mankind completely?! I'll have no part in this!"

"Oh, sit down already and can the rhetoric." Hyrmue snarled at her, rising to Wily and Light's defense. "Nothing can replace humans. I'm sure that wasn't the goal of our two colleagues."

"You're no Colleague of mine, Hyrmue!" Dr. Beskin called back.

**"That's enough, all of you!" **Director Van Hostick shouted, using the amplification of his microphone to cut over the ruckus. **"For God's sake, listen to yourselves! We're supposed to be the best parts of humanity, not the worst. We're here to discuss ideas and preserve this organization. I don't care about your personal feelings about each other. We have got to make this **work**, or else we are well and truly finished."**

"Don't you get it? We're already finished." Dr. Fehzim answered wearily. "Without our Emergency Powers, we have no authority, no command, no respect with any nation. Our budget has made it impossible to sustain all our projects. Without the authority to collect taxes or the will to take donations of money and supplies from institutions some members find morally reprehensible, we are left in a rut. The only solution that would fit in this desperate moment is more mechanization. More robots." Fehzim shook his head for a moment, then stood. "I am sorry, Paul, but I cannot be a part of that. I know full well my division will be one of the first to suffer cuts or even complete deactivation. Knowing that, I must respectfully tender my resignation."

**"What?"** Director Van Hostick uttered incredulously. **"You're resigning?"**

"Others have resigned before me for reasons just as personal." Dr. Fehzim shrugged, glancing briefly to Hyrmue. "My time here is at an end."

"I'm also leaving, then." Dr. Jane announced. "I've been against robots for years. If they're really the best answer to keep this group alive, then I say let it die. I'm out."

As the second resignation was given, a host of others quickly followed. Try as Hostick might to calm them down and get them to sit down again, nothing could change them.

Literally half of the room stood, with varying degrees of respect, anger, and weariness, and walked out. Exhausted, Director Paul Van Hostick slumped into the chair behind his podium, no longer able to stop it.

Darwin Vinkus, one of the last to leave, turned and gave the auditorium one last glance.

Light swallowed when the newly resigned Second Rainbow U.N. representative glowered at him from nearly two hundred feet away. Vinkus said nothing, not even bothering to consider whether or not the American expatriate could hear him. He turned and walked out, and let the silence do his talking.

"What the Hell just happened?" Oliver Xanthos asked with a fearful hush.

"Isn't it obvious?" Titus Grant scratched at his head. "The Second Rainbow just…fell apart."

"Well, that isn't true. A lot of us stayed." Hyrmue stubbornly insisted.

"Look around you, Ezriah." Wily gestured to the auditorium, which was now woefully barren. "How can this organization survive with half of its members having resigned? The fallout from this…those of us that didn't quit are either outcasts to begin with or will be recalled by their own nations. Dollars to doughnuts that that's what's going to happen, once our so-called 'leaders' smell the blood in the water."

"Is that it, then?" Dr. Flynn demanded. "Is this how it ends? With a whimper, instead of a bang?"

Wily let out a resigned sigh and nodded. "See Paul down there?"

They all looked, and saw the Swede slumped in his seat, staring at the floor like a beaten dog. Unresponsive, he was beyond reach.

Wily pressed a hand to cover his eyes. "The last best hope to change the course of human destiny has fallen apart."

_And it's my fault_, Dr. Light thought to himself as his eyes welled up.

* * *

_CNN News Headquarters_

_New York, New York_

_July 8__th__, 2067 C.E._

Marcel D'Whyste was in his dressing room, preparing himself for the evening broadcast. A knock pulled his attention away from the mirror. "Yes?"

His door opened, and Mr. Jacobsen, the broadcast director, marched in. "How's it going, Marcel?"

"Oh…well as can be expected." Marcel shrugged.

Jacobsen rubbed at his chin. "You don't seem very enthusiastic. What's bothering you?"

"The Second Rainbow falling apart yesterday."

"You feel some guilt over it?" Jacobsen prodded, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, lord no." Marcel snorted. He turned back to the mirror and continued adding foundation to his face. "That group was on its last legs, Jim. It's not my fault."

"True, but you did supply the names which divided them from one group with differing views to two factions." James Jacobsen pointed out. "I could understand how you might feel conflicted."

"My only conflict is that I left to take this anchor position, and I wasn't around to report on it while it happened." D'Whyste retorted. "The one saving grace is that nobody else was, either. So there is no stock footage to any of the major broadcast groups…just what the Second Rainbow had on hand. Which wasn't much."

"That was the board's belief as well." Jacobsen pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced down at it. "Hm. Ten minutes to showtime, Marcel. I'd best let you finish up and get down to the bench."

"Sure. Thanks for your concern." Marcel answered, nodding towards his superior's reflection. "My special report on the aftershocks is going to be worth seeing. The PR guys told me that we're expecting a 58 percent market share, at least, for tonight's broadcast."

"Just do us a favor, D'Whyste." Mr. Jacobsen concluded, swinging the door back. "Keep it simple and don't embellish. Our job is to report the news. Not make it."

Marcel let the veiled warning slide by without remark and kept working. Jacobsen shut the door behind him, and Marcel was left alone in his dressing room once again. He stared at his reflection, and saw an old and tired soul where a vibrant man had been only two days ago. The lines on his face told a better story than he could ever vocalize.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_July 14__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:14 A.M._

"I keep waiting for the world to end, but it hasn't happened yet." Dr. Wily told his visitor. Darwin Vinkus, the man who had brought the news of their robot into public view, walked alongside him through the Treeborg Preserve with a placid look on his face.

"No, it hasn't." Darwin admitted. "In spite of what some believed."

Wily gave him a wry grin. "So maybe robots aren't the doomsday machines you thought they were, eh?" The naturalized _Gai-Jin_ raised his eyebrows at the remark and shook his head, not once breaking his stride.

"I haven't changed my perspective much, Albert. I still think the trend is running in the wrong direction."

"Well, if you figure out how to change the world successfully, you let me know." Wily said. "Come to think of it, how come you're still talking to me and Tom? I thought we were _persona non grata_ among your faction."

"The Second Rainbow's finished, Albert." Vinkus chided him. "There are no factions anymore. Just disappointed people trying to make the best of it. To answer your question, though? I learned a long time ago that a disagreement in beliefs didn't mean you threw your friends away."

"Hmm." Wily folded his hands behind his back and slowed his pace. Vinkus compensated to match. "You make a better human than most, Darwin."

"You always did a fair job yourself." Vinkus returned the compliment. "Say, I don't know if you've heard, but the Japanese government has offered the position of U.N. Representative to me. Their old one's retiring next month."

"He is?" Wily blinked. "That's a feather in your cap. It'll be different, you defending a single country instead of a coalition. I think you'll manage, though."

"They say a man should do what he knows." Darwin shrugged. "And what I know is yelling at people so they'll listen. Besides, I'll be able to spend most of my time here in Japan."

"Where you can keep an eye on us, you mean." Wily added.

Vinkus turned the corner of the path and started the trek back towards the house that Light and Wily called home. "I've been keeping an eye on you two since you arrived in Japan, haven't I? Got you your first house, helped you move into this one when you blew that one up."

"I know, I know. I don't mean to sound ungrateful." Wily quickly apologized. "It's just…Well, the truth is, Darwin, I'm so used to people either looking down on me or treating me as an enemy that glib responses are the first thing I turn to."

I know." Vinkus reassured him. "We are all what our experiences have made us. But there aren't as many of us now as there were before. For a short time in human history, we stood as the best the world had to offer. And now, we're all getting old and dying off."

"Geez, you're saying that too now?" Wily grumbled. "Light got on that kick a couple of weeks back. It's depressing."

"Then I won't talk about it." Vinkus promised him. "Just know that I view you and Dr. Light as friends, and I hope that the collapse of the Second Rainbow won't come between us."

They emerged from the woods and into the clearing around their house. A different path led from the house out towards the nearby train station used to reach Shugoya.

The two paused, looking from the house to the road.

"You know, Thomas believes that the Second Rainbow collapsing was his fault?" Wily offered quietly. "He hasn't come out of the house since we got back."

"That's unhealthy, you know."

"He's done it before when other things shook him." Wily explained. "I think that's his way of dealing with it. He locks himself up until he's done sorting it out."

"Well, if it helps, tell him there were other things at work which helped put the nails in the coffin."

Wily snorted. "Usually, you're supposed to say something like, _it's not your fault._"

"Do you believe that to be the case?" Vinkus asked softly.

"I think we've shouldered enough of a burden for this sick, sad world." Wily countered grimly. "I think Tom and I deserve to live out the rest of our lives in peace. Haven't we earned that much?"

Vinkus was forced to nod at that. "You have. But the world isn't always so accommodating. Trust me, I know that from experience. Be thankful you never had to take a human life, Albert." The politician shut his eyes tightly for a moment, reliving a horrible moment in the dark. "It changes everything."

Wily looked away, a twinge in his chest reminding him of a very dark night fifteen years before, and the true demise of Dran Grevis. "Yeah. I suppose it would."

Unaware of Wily's own flashback, Vinkus opened his eyes and clapped his hands together, pushing his own demons away. "Thank you for seeing me today, old friend. You take care of yourself…and take care of Tom. I worry about him. Given the right conditions, he might do something we could all regret later."

"I'll keep an eye on him, don't worry." Wily promised. He took Vinkus's hand and shook it. "You take care of this country. I'll handle things here."

"You're a good man, Wily." Vinkus smiled as they parted. "Never forget that."

"I won't!" Wily called out, waving as Vinkus headed out towards the distant train station. He waited until Vinkus was out of sight before he turned to the house.

Light had appeared on the porch, perhaps to watch Vinkus walk away. He looked as though he hadn't eaten yet.

"I won't." Wily whispered.

* * *

_July 15__th__, 2067 C.E._

_5:24 P.M._

Many of the former members of the Second Rainbow had shifted back to their lives with a sense of tedium and glumness. Light had been one of them, but with Wily and Grant always close at hand, his mood was quickly improving.

Blues liked to think he was responsible for some of that change in his creator as well.

"There is one good thing to come out of all of this." Blues rationalized. He sat at the kitchen table with his creators and LightTech's CEO, relaxing as they finished up their meal. Grant, in particular, had been absolutely fascinated with his construction and capabilities. The Australian hadn't taken his eyes off the robot once over dinner.

Ignoring the awestruck and gleeful expression of their guest, Blues adjusted his sunglasses and went on. "Without you having to worry about any commitments to the Second Rainbow anymore, you can start to expend a more concentrated effort on your work here."

"I'd say that they've done a bang-up job so far." Titus remarked. "Christ, guys. This fella o' yours is an absolute marvel, is what he is. How soon are you going to be able to make more like him?"

"Not for a while." Wily harrumphed. "We're still working out the bugs in him."

"I'm fine." Blues argued. "Well, my power generator isn't, but I'm kosher."

Light set his fork down. "Blues, where did you learn that word?"

"I downloaded Webster's Thesaurus." Protoman explained simply. "It seemed an appropriate equivalent."

"You left out a downside to the Rainbow's collapse." Wily pointed out, eager to ignore the rapid growth in their creation's intellect. "Vinkus instigated the flashpoint of that mess because he exposed our Advanced robot project. Because of that, we know something we didn't before." The mad scientist's frown made his eyebrows loom over his brow. "Our company's sprung a leak. Either a member of the board talked, or one of their subordinates did after being filled in."

"Well, we've gotta figure out where it is then." Grant vowed. "You boys kept the whole project kinda vague, but if that getting out could cause us this much trouble, a bigger leak could really put a kink into LightTech's workings. But why did Vinkus say all of that? I thought he was still your friend."

"He is." Wily nodded. "But Vinkus prescribes to a different outlook, and he's never been afraid to speak his mind or bluster. Remember what he did to stop the French from nuking Egypt right after we got global communications re-established?"

"Oh…right." Grant recalled. "Steel balls on him that time. But he still said it. He could've come up to you privately, even."

"That's not his way." Light disagreed. "Vinkus isn't the sort who works out of the shadows. When he has a problem with you, he tells you straight out. Brutal honesty. It's a good quality for a veteran politician. But you're right. He could've timed it better."

"It seems illogical to blame Representative Vinkus's outburst during your conference for the cause of the Second Rainbow's collapse." Blues cut in. "I have reviewed the video recordings taken during the meeting, and it seemed as though your group was not going to reach a consensus on anything. There were no ideas given that had majority support."

"Well, you're right there." Wily admitted. "But the thing about us humans, Blues, is that when bad things happen, we always look for someone or something to blame. It's almost like it's hardwired into us. We just can't accept that sometimes, things go wrong."

"That would seem to be a harmful trait." Blues frowned. "Why does your species insist on keeping it?"

"Because we don't know any better, I suppose." Grant shrugged. "But I gotta say, Blues, you're a regular marvel. Curious little bugger too. You trying to figure out how to become more human?"

"No." Came the easy, but quick response. "I merely wish to understand humans. If I can. Given what I have gleaned from my conversations with Dr. Light and Dr. Wily, and from viewing them, I may never have a comprehensive understanding."

Grant laughed. "Ain't that the truth. Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually, guy. And when you do, I'll buy you a beer."

"I can't process alcohol."

Light made an odd snort and quickly covered up his spreading grin. Grant shook his head. "Oy. Guess he's got a bit farther to go, then."

Grant stood up and set his napkin aside. "Well, boys, thanks again for the meal. Next time, we'll eat at my place. And Blues can come along if he feels like it. More the merrier, I say."

Light and Wily rose up. "We'll show you to the door." Wily said. "Blues, clean up the dishes."

The sunglass-wearing robot made a mechanical sigh. "I'll take care of them."

"Don't want to, do you?" Light asked probingly.

The robot shook his head. "However, I've been given an order. I have to follow it. Goodbye, Mr. Grant. Have a pleasant evening."

"And the same to you, Blues. The same to you." The Australian gave the robot one last wink and headed out of the kitchen, with Wily and Light following behind him.

"Another good thing for you two." Grant offered, filling up the last moments of his visit with company business. "Our stock rose another two points yesterday. Seems like Vinkus spilling the beans on your Advanced robot project got a lot of people excited about the company, on top of wrecking the Rainbow. I think you two'll be able to retire early at this rate."

"What, and leave LightTech in your incapable hands?" Wily joked.

Titus laughed and reached for the door. "Oh, no. No, I'm thinking I'll be retiring sometime next year. I'll stick around long enough to help you get this project off the ground, though. Long as I'm going to go, I may as well go out with a bang."

Titus Grant, CEO of LightTech and former Second Rainbow IT specialist, opened the front door of the house Light called home.

A thundering blast of gunpowder shattered the peaceful moment, and two massive slugs buried themselves in the Australian's chest. Blood splashed out from the impacts, bright red, and continued to pump out as he fell.

He hit the carpet by the entryway with a heart turned to pulp from the heavy bullets, and Light felt another piece of his world shatter. Wily had the good sense to scream an inflection in instinctive German. It allowed the stunned LightTech founder to break his gaze away from the open-eyed corpse and look to the doorway.

A fiftysomething gray haired man in faded khakis and a patched leather jacket calmly walked into the house, pointing a large vintage revolver to the survivors. The oddest mark about him was a purple beret he wore on his head.

Light's throat went dry when he recognized the emblem on it.

HSL.

"Gentlemen." The assassin sent from the Human Supremacy League said coldly. His penetrating stare left no room for doubt as to their fate. He looked between them for a moment, pursed his lips, and nodded. "For crimes against humanity, I pronounce you guilty."

He raised his handgun up. "Normally, I'd use my laser sidearm for this. You two, however, deserve to feel lead in your bellies as you bleed out."

Wily raised his hands up, palms out in surrender. "You can't do this." He argued in a shaky tone. "Why are you doing this?"

The League assassin glared at them afresh, and pulled the trigger. At the last second, Wily yelped and tried to duck away.

The pistol bellowed another angry report, and the slug sliced through the mad scientist's clothing and grazed the side of his torso. The trauma was enough to make Wily collapse, curling in on himself in pain.

"You're designing robot overseers, smart enough to fully replace humans in a worksite. To do more besides. For the sake of humanity, and to prevent the scourge of robots from spreading any farther, you both must die."

A quivering Light fell to his knees. Grant was dead, Wily was soon to be. He tried to find some measure of sympathy in the HSL man's eyes, but found nothing save scorn and disgust.

"You don't kill people." Light stammered, falling back on the only avenue of protest left to him. "The League doesn't attack people. It only destroys robots!"

The assassin finally smiled, a cruel, wicked stare born from the darkest corners of the human heart. He swiveled his gun around and lined up the sights on Light's chest.

"Not anymore."

A scream slashed through the dead stillness.

* * *

"NO!"

The assassin jerked his head up in time to see a small human figure charging at him from the far side of the room. On instinct, he aimed and fired. Another slug slammed hard into the midsection of the attacker, and a very human, very young voice screamed out in pain and collapsed backwards.

Wide-eyed, the assassin realized he'd just shot a ten year old boy. "Oh my God." He swiveled back on Light and Wily, caught between fear and disbelief. "You made me kill a BOY, damn you!"

"We didn't make you do anything!" Light screamed back. "You're the one who pulled the fucking trigger!"

The assassin smashed his teeth together. "Damn you." He aimed his pistol again. "One bullet for each of you then. Right between your Goddamned eyes!"

The crumpled form of the black-haired boy on the floor groaned and started to pick himself up. The youth had been wearing sunglasses, but they'd been knocked askew on impact. One of the lenses had been cracked, and a wild eye danced behind the half-destroyed eyepiece.

"No. NO. NO!" He stumbled back to his feet and knocked his useless glasses aside. "Can't let you. Can't. Not…Kill…Not…"

He was stammering, as if something in his mind wasn't right.

The assassin stared at his wound. The bullet had slammed through the boy's shirt and revealed skin underneath. It was lodged underneath the skin…

And underneath it, gleaming metal stared back at him.

"Oh my God." The HSL assassin swallowed hard. "You're…It's…A robot?!"

"Stay back, Blues!" Light cried out. "He'll kill you!"

Blues shook his head, more of a twitch than a solid gesture. "Third Law_-Law-Law-can't_…no. First Law-_Law-Law precedent_ must **ADDENDUM** must save Creators _**ADDENDUM!**_"

With a lurching gait, he marched towards the gunman.

"Stay back!" The assassin barked. He fired another shot and clipped Blues just above his eye. The robot recoiled briefly from the grazing impact, but kept coming. He raised his arms up, reaching out as he walked on.

The gunman screamed and fired point blank at the robot's face. This time, the bullet found a mark in Blues' right eye socket. The force of the blow made Blues stumble backwards for another second as sparks showered out of his face, but he righted himself a second time and kept coming.

The ruined mess of one eye continued to spark and flash, and the other eye, a brilliant blue, seemed to glow even brighter.

"The Creators must be protected." Blues droned, walking towards the assassin with inhuman determination. Hastily, the gunman tried to reload his revolver.

It didn't help him. Blues was on top of him before he could get the second bullet chambered. His intense synthetic musculature performed perfectly, and the robot's fingers closed around the gunman's wrist and squeezed hard.

The man screamed in pain, and the sound of cracking bones could be heard even by Light and Wily.

"Stop!" The man pleaded. "STOP! You can't! You can't attack me! FIRST LAW!"

_"A robot must not harm, or through inaction, allow harm to-to-to-come to…"_ Blues rattled in reply. As if some force had taken over him, he squeezed even harder, and the man's scream intensified.

The assassin kicked out with his leg and jarred Blues out of his stance. The robot righted himself and twisted hard, snapping the man's entire arm out of alignment with another sickening crack. The gunman threw his head back and howled.

"Blues, STOP!" Dr. Light shouted. "That's an order! Stop! Stop already!"

"First…First Law." Blues droned, not stopping even when the HSL gunman slammed his other arm into the side of his head with a mighty punch. "Third Law. Second Law. Robot must…a robot must…allow harm…prevent harm…Follow all orders…**prevent…allow…follow…**_**First Law Addendum, PrecedentPriorityPrecedent Addendum must superior humans protect…**_**"**

The gunman fell to his knees, wheezing, crying, fast losing consciousness. He was briefly aware of the searing pain in his arm lessening as the pressure fell off.

Two small, but iron-strong hands clamped around his neck and began to choke him. The gunman gurgled and spasmed in protest, but to no avail.

He looked up into the eyes of the robot who looked like a human boy, one eye glowing bright blue, and the ruined other leaking something down onto the floor.

Something red.

He felt his larynx and voicebox give way, and then blackness took over his senses. Only when his head slumped uselessly to the side did Blues stop exerting pressure.

It was another five seconds before the robot pulled away, his hands still locked in the choking position. Dully, Protoman turned around and gazed from his hands to his two Creators.

The look of absolute horror and terror on their faces caused the glow in his good eye to disappear entirely.

The robot's head began to shake.

"I…" He started to say.

Light cut him off in a fearful whisper. "What did you do?"

Every nonessential process running through Blues' mind cut off instantly amidst warnings of dangerous heat intensity levels and Core Module irregularities.

Blues' left eye rolled up into his head, and he collapsed to the ground, deactivated.

Holding a hand to his bleeding side, Wily walked over next to Blues and pulled out a portable scanner. One quick sweep told him enough. "He's gone into Mind Freeze." The mad scientist told Light.

"He…He attacked a human. How could he…" Light stammered.

"TOM!" Wily barked, snapping his friend out of his less severe mental breakdown. "Get on the phone. Call an ambulance and the police!"

"What do I tell them?" Light gasped.

"Tell them we've just been attacked by an HSL assassin and that at least one man is dead. And that's ALL you say to them!" Light still didn't move, and Wily forced his face into a reddened snarl. "NOW!"

Light finally moved out of the living room and towards their phone.

Still bleeding, Wily made his way to the crumpled form of Titus Grant's murderer.

He ground his teeth together and reached both his blood covered hand and his clean one to the man's neck. Squeezing as hard as he could, he left bloody fingerprints at the site of Blues' attack, overlapping and masking the injuries with ones of his own making.

A good twenty seconds was all he was able to muster with vicelike intensity, and then he pulled away, lightheaded, panting, exhausted.

"No one must ever learn the truth." He swore, staring at the crumpled form of Blues. The robot had protected them, the First Law Addendum had worked. But the cost was too great.

It would be worse if this got out.

Wily looked down at the body of Titus Grant, and the hard lines of his face disappeared.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I'm sorry, Titus."

In the next room, Wily heard Light sobbing openly as he made the important phone call.

Wily grabbed Blues by an arm and began to drag him away from the scene.

The world wasn't ready for him yet.

* * *

Paramedics rolled the unconscious HSL gunman out of the house on a gurney with leather straps to keep him secured, while another team zipped up the body bag that contained Titus Grant's corpse.

_"Oi. Wairi-sama, daijobu?"_

Wily looked away from the grisly sight and blinked, focusing back in on the police investigator taking down the witness accounts. Light sat beside him on the couch, speechless and with a blank stare.

Wily waved the policeman's concern off. "I'm fine. Just still trying to process all of this."

The investigator nodded understandingly and tapped his stylus against his datapad. "All right. I believe I have your account down correctly, but just to make sure, I want you to listen to it."

Hovering robotic cameras circled the living room and entryway, snapping a few last minute shots for the homicide division's archive. Wily paid them little mind and kept his focus on the officer. It made it all easier to deal with.

"At around 5:30 this evening, you, Dr. Light, and Mr. Grant were finishing up dinner. As you were walking him to the door, the gunman we have taken into custody opened fire with his revolver and killed Mr. Grant immediately." The policeman paused. "We have been able to verify his identity. His name is Dan Masters of the United States; he arrived earlier today at Narita International Airport."

"And he came here to kill us because he was HSL and we make robots." Wily filled in the blanks numbly.

The policeman nodded. "So it would seem. Continuing on, after he killed Mr. Grant, he then attempted to murder you and Dr. Light. You took a grazing shot from him, clutched at your wound and got him to lower his guard. You then disabled his wrist, broke his arm, and proceeded to choke him until he was unconscious."

"He didn't want to go down easily." Wily agreed.

The policeman kept his gaze even and blinked once. "And you are sure that that is exactly what happened?"

Wily nodded.

"Even though you yourself were older than your aggressor, and not as physically fit, you were able to disable and incapacitate him?"

Wily met the challenging stare with one of equal power. "I'm wiry." He answered. "The Wars didn't kill me, I'll be damned if some idiot with a gun is the one that bumps me off. Any other questions you'd like to ask about my account?"

The inspector looked to Light. "Is that what happened, Doctor?"

Light said nothing until Wily gave him a gentle nudge. He stirred, and looked at the policeman as if seeing him for the first time. "He killed Grant." Light managed to get out. "Everything Al said is right."

The policeman sighed and put his datapad away. "Very well. If you two happen to remember anything else, please call our office. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Sure you aren't." Wily muttered.

The policeman ignored the remark. "If you would like, we can station a police officer outside your house."

"If you want to keep one close, put them at the Shugoya train depot." Wily snapped. "We want our privacy."

As quickly as they had come, the efficient men and machines of Tokyo's law enforcement and medical teams disappeared. Silence once more came to the house of Light.

Wily grabbed Light by the shoulder. "Are you going to be all right, Tom?"

"I don't know." Light croaked. He seemed ready to cry, but somehow held the tears back.

Wily hugged him, and Light returned the gesture with a tighter squeeze.

"Why?" Light asked sadly. "Why did Titus have to die?"

Wily sighed and patted his friend on the back.

"I don't know."

* * *

_Tokyo General Hospital_

_July 17__th__, 2067 C.E._

_11:42 P.M._

Pain. Darkness and pain, and a steady beeping. A hiss sounded every now and then.

Colonel Dan Masters began to come to. Senses muddied from pain medications focused in, and he almost gagged. A tube was shoved down his throat. The room was dark, but he could make out an inhuman figure stepping close to his bedside.

A cold mechanical appendage reached down to his chest as he groaned at his condition.

_"Do not move." _The monotone voice of a medical robot announced. _"Your injuries were extensive. Do not attempt to talk, either. A breathing tube has been inserted to compensate for your damaged esophagus."_

Colonel Masters could feel, and hear, his heartbeat increasing in panic. He tried to move his legs and his undamaged arm.

He couldn't.

Slowly, the lights in the room began to come back up, and he could make out the shape of the medical robot. The thing's green optics focused in on him, then glanced to the monitors. Colonel Masters glanced down, and realized he was tied to the bed with leather restraints. Only his broken arm, nestled deep in a cast too heavy for him to lift, wasn't strapped.

_"You should try to relax." _The robot said. _"Your heart rate and stress level are elevated. You have been restrained by police order due to the nature of your crimes."_

Masters let out a muffled scream and instantly regretted it, choking on the breathing tube. A few minor alarms went off.

A syringe appeared from one of the robot's mechanical appendages. Masters' eyes widened in horror and he glanced around.

There were no medical technicians, no doctors, no nurses nearby.

No humans. Just a robot, tasked with his care.

_"Be calm." _The robot said placatingly. _"I am going to administer a mild sedative through your IV. This should help you to relax and speed up your recovery. The needle has been sterilized."_

The robot lowered the syringe down towards the IV drip embedded in Colonel Master's left arm just above the wrist.

It never finished the movement. A powerful electric current surged through its metallic body and shorted it out with a heavy smell of ozone and burnt plastic and silicon. Gravity took hold, and the deactivated robot collapsed to the ground. Two electric studs were embedded in its back, and wires capable of harnessing the charge ran from the probes towards the window.

Colonel Masters relaxed as he saw who was holding the taser that had spared him. One of his recently graduated recruits, come to the rescue. He was dressed all in black, ready for a combat operation.

"Hell of a day, sir." The trooper commented, hopping down into the room.

With his heart rate returning to normal, Colonel Masters managed a weak nod. The trooper retrieved the discharged taser lines and kept talking. "The men and I know why you had to make the attempt on their lives. We support you one hundred percent. But the fallout's been…well, damaging. And I know what you'd say. War has casualties."

The trooper stood back up and saluted him. "Sir, I've come to deliver you from this Hell. I know what you're feeling."

Colonel Masters tensed up for a moment, then slumped back as his man finished the thought. "You won't have to endure these machines any longer."

Before the Colonel could muster a protest, his trooper had deactivated all the monitoring equipment, and more importantly, the air pump that had been feeding him oxygen through the breathing tube.

The trooper pulled it out of his throat, and the Colonel gagged as the last ribbed segment popped free. He tried to speak, but couldn't. His injuries and the strain of the tube were too great.

The trooper saluted him. "Per your spoken orders, Colonel Masters…You shall die free of the machines that would treat you like a vegetable."

A shortness of breath took hold. He tried to breathe normally, but his damaged throat wouldn't allow it. Without the breathing tube, his larynx closed up on him, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water.

In his panic, he tried to mouth one last phrase to the man who he'd trained.

He couldn't form it how he needed to.

Oxygen deprivation set in, and for the last time, Colonel Dan Masters closed his eyes. The unspoken sentence died on his lips.

**Robots can bleed.**

The trooper held the salute for a few moments longer, then dropped another purple beret with the HSL logo on his CO's chest and closed the dead man's eyes.

The deed done, the HSL trooper vanished from the room the way he'd came in. It would be another five minutes before a nurse, responding to a failed update from the medical robot at his bed, discovered the grisly sight.

The 'angel of mercy' was never found.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_July 18__th__, 2067 C.E._

_4:24 P.M._

"Well, they're not too burned." Wily consoled himself. Carrying a tray of four grilled cheese sandwiches, and Eddie marching behind him with bottles of iced tea stored away, he marched into the laboratory. "Tom, I've got dinner ready! Come on, I know you're hungry, you haven't come out of here all day."

Just as Dr. Wily had said, Light hadn't strayed from the laboratory at all that day. He'd spent most of the day before locked away as well. Wily stilled himself halfway inside, the stop so sudden that Eddie bounced against the back of his legs.

To Wily, it seemed as though Dr. Thomas X. Light had been standing in the same exact spot for hours.

"Tom?"

The portly, bearded robotologist stood over the deactivated body of Blues. The synthskin had been peeled back from Protoman's entire chest and face, and the robot's skull had been cracked open.

Wires ran from his systems to various monitors and scanners, all of their data collected and collated to the main monitor above the operating table. But Dr. Light wasn't looking at the screen, though he certainly seemed like he had. Given the glaring error messages that were displayed, there was no doubt of that.

Dr. Light slowly lifted his bent head up from over the robot's lifeless frame. Empty, bloodshot eyes chilled Wily as he felt them bore into him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Light asked.

Wily blinked. "About what, Tom?"

Light reached a hand towards the metallic cranium of their Advanced robot prototype. Without ceremony, he pulled out a fist-sized object. The Core Module.

"You changed the Core Module's programming." Light accused him. "I thought he was just stuck in an aberrant feedback loop between First Law causalities when he was stammering. But it wasn't an Interlaw conflict, was it?"

Light's fingers tightened on what was, for all intents and purposes, the cortex of Protoman's positronic brain. "No. I've spent two days digging through him, trying to figure out what in the _Hell_ went wrong, and the entire time, the answer was in the one place I never expected it to be. You wrote an Addendum to the First Law, where you and I were superior humans, to be protected above all others."

"And it worked." Wily defended himself. "It WORKED, Tom. Without the First Law Addendum, Blues would have stood by helplessly while that madman blasted you and me away, and then been destroyed himself!" He took a step forward, fire returning to him. "But because of the Addendum, he was able to protect us. He was able to stop that HSL assassin dead in his tracks!"

"And because of that, he violated the First Law!" Light shouted back. "He caused harm, and he went into Mind Freeze! INTENTIONALLY!" He held up the Core Module. "I've spent hours examining this. Everything that makes Blues _Blues_ is in this, and it's **bricked.** His memories, his personality, all of it's been burned out. The Core Module worked just like it was supposed to; all the critical logic circuits have been burned out. Because of you, Blues is dead!"

"He's not dead." Wily argued. "He's just inoperative. We can rebuild him. That's the whole point about robots, isn't it? You can upgrade them and fix the errors."

Light hurled the ruined Core Module across the room with a scream. "And what about his mind?!" He demanded. "We can fix his body, but all he was is gone forever. My son…" Light choked out. He put a hand to his mouth until he was calm, then spoke again. "My son is dead."

"And Titus is dead. And Latch is dead. And we're alive." Wily said irritably. "And Blues is _not_ your son. He's just a robot, Tom. So he'll be missing a few months worth of memories. We can bring him back online, better than ever. Replacing his damaged eye and exterior's simple enough. Hell, as long as he's like this, I can even put in a new power source, so his solar power generator won't end up killing him again."

Wily set the plate of sandwiches down on a nearby worktable. "But for right now, I want you to stop fiddling and eat something. You can't go starving yourself because of work. It's not good."

With that aspect, at least, Light was willing to listen to reason. He stepped away from the body of Protoman and picked up a sandwich. His stomach growled when the first bite hit his mouth; he had been hungry. Eddie opened his lid up and fired out two canisters of iced tea, and soon the two scientists were eating their meal, the anger from their conversation passed over, forgotten, and forgiven. Wily had expected Light would be a little angry at him, but that he'd get over it.

They were still alive. That was one blessing too many others no longer had.

Light wiped the crumbs of his second sandwich onto the hem of his lab coat and rattled his empty can of iced tea when they finished.

"I'll repair him." Light told Wily.

"You sure?"

"The only thing that worries me is his mind. But I can't put his old Core Module back into him. I can't fix that. I'm just going to have to accept that the Blues I've known so far is never going to come back."

"And are you going to be all right with that?"

"I learned a long time ago that it never pays to be upset because of things you can't change." Light looked back to the operating table. "What's done is done."

"And are you going to put in a new power system? Dr. Flynn did offer to let us in on his micro-fusion project."

Light shook his head. "This is my responsibility, Albert. I made a promise to Blues, that no matter what happened, I wouldn't alter him without his permission. His power system will stay as it is until he decides for himself to make that change."

"If you want to use the father-son allegory, it doesn't make sense for you to listen to him." Wily pointed at Light. "He's still a child. It's your responsibility to make the right choices for him until he can."

"And it's also my responsibility to respect his wishes."

"But…"

"Will, haven't you done enough?" Light cut him off wearily.

Dr. Wily clamped his jaw shut, then frowned and stood back up. "I suppose I have." He took the dishes and turned for the door. "Good luck, then. I'm sure that you'll do just fine repairing Blues without me."

Eddie lingered behind, and flashed an inquisitive message across the screen on his lid's underside.

Light read it and shook his head.

"No. He won't remember anything."

Eddie made a low whistle. Light bowed his head and slouched forward against the worktable.

"Me too, Eddie."

* * *

_Sydney Harbor, Sydney, Australia_

_July 22__nd__, 2067 C.E._

_1:45 P.M._

His will had specified that his ashes should be buried at sea.

A small gathering of his friends, relatives, and work associates stood along the railing of the hydrofoil Tri-Catamaran vessel _Socrates_, the ship Oliver Xanthos called home. With the audience watching somberly, the minister finished his prayer and handed the urn containing Titus Grant's ashes to Dr. Light.

The robotologist took his friend's remains and stared over the waters. Not far off, the majestic and rebuilt Concert Hall watched silently on its concrete platform.

Light opened the lid of the urn. A soft breeze picked up and spilled over the deck. The old scientist raised his head up and listened to it, and only reacted again when it slackened off.

"Good bye, Titus."

He turned the urn sideways and shook the ashes out. Caught on the wind, they flew out to sea and scattered in the water, quickly absorbed and removed from view.

Oliver Xanthos cleared his throat from the middle of the mourners. "My cooks have prepared refreshments, if you would all care to join me at the stern."

The crowd filed away from the bow, speaking quietly as they went. Wily went the opposite direction, towards Light and the ship's forecastle. Light nodded at his friend's approach.

Dr. Light must have still looked tired, because Wily looked concerned when he stopped two paces away. "You going to be all right?" Wily asked.

Light shook his head. "I don't really have a good answer, Will. I know he's in a better place now, but I miss him."

"Yeah." Wily breathed. "I do, too." He pulled his hands out of the pockets of his black suit and harrumphed. "He'd hate us right now, dressed up like a pair of _nouveau riche_ bastards."

"Not our fault we prefer lab coats." Light smiled at the well-intentioned joke. "Remember old Doc Simdorn?"

"Another lifetime ago, yes." Wily was less prone to losing himself in a reverie, but thoughts of what the Institute had been prior to the Contest of 2039 was a haunting vision of utopia. "One lab coat free with every stint in the madhouse. That's how he used to put it."

"He always told us to think big."

"We did." Wily looked out into the harbor, and tried to make out where the ashes of Titus had fallen. "And this is where it got us. The last two, Tom. We're the last two out of what was a four man team when we started in 2047. This rotten world's killed everyone around us."

"Are _you_ going to be all right?" Light asked back. "Aren't you supposed to be the upbeat one when I can't wave the flag?"

"I'm tired of picking up the slack." Wily snapped. "I'm tired of trying anymore. I just want to spend the rest of my life not being bothered. That was something I thought we had."

Light put a hand on Wily's shoulder reassuringly. "Come on." He urged his friend. "We'll go home soon enough. Let's just say hello to some people before we go."

Light nodded, but didn't walk beside his friend as they moved to the back of the boat. He walked on ahead, and let Wily fall behind. Albert didn't have the heart to call him on it, considering.

In Dr. Light's mind, Blues was dead. And it was his fault.

* * *

Darwin Vinkus stood at the ship's bar, nursing a whiskey sour. He blinked when Dr. Wily sidled up beside him and gestured to the bartender.

"Beer."

"Put it on my tab." Vinkus added. The bartender looked between them and blinked. "Drinks are complimentary, Mr. Vinkus."

"Give the man two then." The Japanese Representative smiled. "It looks like he needs it."

The barkeep popped two Foster's beers open and slid them across the counter. Wily took a test swig from the first, then nodded in approval. "Good and cold." His eyes flickered to Vinkus. "How did you know?"

"It's been a rough day." Vinkus explained.

Wily snorted and chugged some more. "Been a rough month."

"I've got one bit of good news." Vinkus offered. "The man who murdered Grant turned up dead in his hospital room."

"Yeah?" Wily kept drinking.

"I talked to some sources in the Tokyo Police." Vinkus went on. "Seems like another member of the HSL snuck in and disabled the medic droid, then unplugged him from life support. Death came pretty quickly. You did a lot of damage to the man before paramedics got to him, after all."

"He did a lot of damage too." Wily pointed out drily. "That's gratitude for you. We saved the world and they're killing us off." He finished off his first bottle and slammed it down on the counter. Venom crept into his voice. "We should have let this world_ burn."_

Vinkus grunted noncommittally. "The United Nations--or rather, a few member nations who believed they were above international influence--shut down the Rainbow when we were at our strongest. We could have done so much more."

"So why didn't we?" Wily challenged him.

Vinkus sipped at his drink. "I don't know. Maybe we were afraid to. Power corrupts, after all."

"Hindsight?" Wily turned away from the bar and faced out to the rest of the crowd belowdecks. It was mostly made up of Tech faction Rainbow members, and those of Grant's countrymen who had known him in life. Work had prevented him from ever raising a family.

"Had we but known." Vinkus ran a finger along the rim of his drinking glass, then offered a thought. "Perhaps this world needs a tyrant for everlasting peace."

Wily raised his eyebrows. "And are you that tyrant?"

"I picked a horrible career to serve in, if that's the case." Vinkus laughed off the accusation easily. "Perhaps you might throw your hat into the ring? You are, after all, one of a select group of surviving brains."

"I'm too old and too tired to go changing the world now." Wily scoffed, reaching for his second beer. "And in five minutes, I'll be too drunk." He bored down on Vinkus. "Why is it that you exposed our Advanced Robot project anyhow? I don't even give a damn about your source. I just want to know what was running through your head when you dropped that out in the open."

"Honestly?" Vinkus clarified.

"If you can be honest." Wily countered.

Vinkus smiled nervously. "All right, I suppose I deserved that. To answer you then…" He gave it a few moment's thought, then raised his glass up and took a sip. He savored the bitter flavor of it and swallowed before he went on. "What was left of the Rainbow was too fractured to survive, much less do anything else to help the world. I knew there were people, like Paul Hostick, who couldn't accept that. For any of us to move on, something had to break."

"And that something was us." Wily concluded. "You spilled the beans, and a gunman came to kill us all. Titus was slaughtered, and we almost went with him." Wily blew across the top of his bottle, producing a low hum. "Was it worth it?"

"Hindsight." Vinkus said, taking another sip. "A man died when he shouldn't have. Remember what I told you about causing death, and the burden it gives?"

"Perfectly."

"He's the two hundredth and forty-first person to die because of a decision I made." Darwin Vinkus explained gravely. "And I've watched too many friends slip between my fingers to pledge he'll be the last."

Wily brought his bottle over and clinked the side of Darwin's glass. "And now I know why you always look older than us."

Vinkus nodded and finished the last of his whiskey sour. "And why I have so few friends."

* * *

"You can't go on hating him." Xanthos consoled Light. The elderly philanthropist stood up on the walkout deck behind the bridge, looking over the crowd of mourners below. The robotologist had been invited to stand by him. "He's your friend, for God's sakes. How many of those do we have left, Thomas?"

"But what he did, Oliver. He altered Blues' programming. What he did caused Blues to go through mind freeze." Light shook his head. "He kept it a secret from me."

"And you haven't kept secrets from him?" Xanthos postulated. Light knew it was a shotgun statement, but it hit home and silenced him regardless. "Look. You two argue. _All_ the time. I don't think there's been a visit I've had where you weren't sniping at each other. But you've made it work because you've both always known that you can rely on each other. One moment you're fighting about some ridiculous detail, and the next, your solidarity is so strong that nothing has ever been able to break you apart."

"He's never done anything like this before, though." Light crossed his arms over his chest. Even with the warm air, the sea breeze was chilling. "He's never done something so ridiculous. I don't even know why he did it. Was he just trying to experiment? Was he running on paranoia? Or was he trying to see if the Laws were as immutable as we've claimed for decades? Because of what happened, we've had to cover it all up." He closed his eyes. "And I have to watch Blues wake up a second time…and pretend it's the first time I've ever watched him activate."

"I didn't say this was going to be easy." Xanthos explained calmly. "Life never is. But I know Titus spent a lifetime trying to cheer the two of you up. Don't let his spirit fade from your lives just because he's gone. Forgive Albert, Thomas. You need him, just as much as he needs you."

Xanthos patted the doctor on the shoulder. "Come on. I've got a bottle of wine I've been saving for a rainy day. I think you, Dr. Wily and I should finally open it."

As Xanthos led him back to the main deck, Light let out all the tension left in him.

Life was too short to keep the hate stored away.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_July 28__th__, 2067 C.E._

_9:01 A.M._

Three months of memories and experiences no longer existed, and the saddest detail was that the robot never suspected they were missing.

The raven-haired, blue eyed robot opened his eyes. Two blurry forms above him came into focus. Two old men with gray hair in lab coats. One had a prodigious beard, and the other, wild hair and a comical mustache.

**Robot number DL#00 operational. Designation: Protoman. Systems activated.**

The one with the beard, rounder than the other, smiled. A hint of something Blues didn't recognize tainted the expression. "Good morning, Blues."

Slowly, the robot eased himself up into a sitting position and focused in on them. They were human, as far as his sensors could tell him. Internal temperature for both hovered at human levels.

"Blues." The robot intoned emotionlessly. He blinked unsteadily, then looked at the two. "Is that to be my designation?"

"It's your name." The bearded human explained. "Your designation is Protoman, but your name…what we will call you…is Blues. My name is Dr. Thomas Light. This is Dr. Thomas Wily."

Blues blinked at them again, and unconsciously raised a hand to his face. A look of confusion briefly took hold as he felt, somehow, that something was missing. He brushed the aberrant conclusion aside and focused on what was concrete. "Are you my Creators?"

"I'd say self-identity's established." Wily muttered under his breath, then spoke up. "Yes, we are."

"Blues, can you run a diagnostic on your positronic matrix for me quickly?" Light asked.

Protoman's eyes danced left and right rapidly as his systems check software probed the software of his mind. "Core Module is nominal. Tertiary data cores and subprocessors operating as programmed. Would you like me to recite the Laws of Robotics?"

"No, that won't be necessary." Dr. Light told him, offering a quick look to Wily. "Go ahead and take a walk around the laboratory."

Blues did so, and found the activity to be easier than his original estimates had indicated. Many of the delicate servomotor balances required for the task already seemed in alignment.

"Curious." He said, after making a short hop near the end and coming back down on his feet with a precise landing. "My preprogrammed settings for rough and fine motor control seem very accurate."

"Preprogrammed?" Wily glanced to Light and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we were able to transfer some settings from other bipedal robots we've had before you." Light quickly explained. "I'm glad to hear that they're working out all right for you."

"I seem to have some data missing." Blues announced, turning to look at them.

Light's smile froze on his face. "Oh? What data?"

Blues thought for a moment. "My purpose. You did not program me with a purpose."

Light brought a hand up and rubbed at his eyes. It was almost word for word what Blues had said on his first activation back in April. "Then I guess you're just going to have to figure out your own purpose, aren't you?"

Blues blinked. "I…I suppose."

"And while you're not doing that, you'll be helping us." Wily added. "We could always use a good laboratory assistant."

"I see." Blues looked around the laboratory. "What will I be assisting with?"

"We've got one big project on our docket." Wily went on. "The fragmenting and reassembling of particles and energy over great distances. Teleportation, or "Warp" technology."

Eddie walked into the room and made a beeping noise. The three looked down at the Fliptop, which blinked back at them expectantly.

"This is Eddie." Dr. Light told Blues. "You might say that he's…well, he's family."

Blues thought about that. "Robots do not have families."

"You do." Light insisted, ignoring the scowl that Wily put on. "Eddie, why don't you take Blues on a tour around the house? After that, you can take him outside. Don't go farther than 50 meters from the house though, all right?"

The small robot beeped in the affirmative and rattled a line of binary gibberish to Blues.

Repeating the gesture he'd seen Light use with him, Blues smiled and nodded to the creature. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Eddie. I'm looking forward to your tour."

The two robots walked out of the laboratory, and Wily walked over to stand by Light.

"You sure it's okay to let those two wander off together?" Wily asked quietly.

"It should be." Light wiped a tear from his eye. He'd managed to keep his composure until Blues was out of sight. "You ordered Eddie not to tell Blues that this was his second Activation, right?"

"Yes, I did." Wily picked a piece of lint off of his sleeve. "I'm sure Eddie knows what the ramifications are if he doesn't. Any hint of missing time could cause Blues to go into a cascade logic failure looking for his memories. And if he ever found out what he did…"

"Mind Freeze all over again." Light finished. "I pray to God that it doesn't come to that. I couldn't bring myself to go through this a third time."

"So why did you activate him at all?" Wily demanded. "Why didn't you just scrap him, cut your losses?"

"Because he deserves life." Light insisted. "He's alive, Will. Or at least he was before. And if there's even a shred of a chance he can get that back…Then I have to give it to him."

"The world may not accept him." Wily scratched the side of his face. "You know that. What were you going to do then?"

"I don't know." Light bit his lip. "I just…some days, I wish we could tell the world to go to Hell. Like my cabin back at Lake Quesnel? Nobody ever bothered me."

Wily stared at his friend for a long moment, considering Light's wish.

"You know, what if we could have that again?" Wily asked suddenly. "What if there was a place we could go and just leave the world behind at? A place where we could work and not be bothered, where nobody could come and see us we didn't want to."

"Al, that's just a wish." Light sighed. "There is no place like that."

"But there could be." Wily insisted. "If you wanted it bad enough, then…"

"It'll have to stay a dream." Light cut him off, waving his hand sharply. "No matter what else happens, we have a responsibility. To each other, to our robots, and to the world. As long as we're alive, Al, we have to do whatever we can to make this a better place."

"And what about those who don't?" Wily demanded. "Why should we give a damn about people who won't even help themselves?"

"Because those with the power to change the world for the better should." Light concluded, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Xanthos taught us that."

He walked out of the laboratory after their robots, leaving a frustrated Wily behind.

The so-called mad scientist decided then and there that the "Fortress" he was building in Chile would have to remain a secret. If Light couldn't follow through on his own subconscious desires, he would never understand it.

They'd lost Latch.

They'd lost Grant.

"Xanthos taught us something else, Tom." Wily muttered, staring at his hand. "Things come in threes."

* * *

_Los Angeles, California_

_July 29__th__, 2067 C.E._

_9:13 P.M._

The United States' U.N. Representative, Preston Brawlings, hailed from Los Angeles originally. He went home every so often, both to visit his family as well as his constituents. His job had gotten considerably easier since the Second Rainbow fell apart.

There was even talk of him being elected to a Senatorial posting after his coup.

He laughed over a wireless phone line tagged to his earpiece. "Yeah, that does sound good, Bill." Representative Brawlings was walking from his home offices out to his car.

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled. _"Of course, we can't having you getting too comfortable your first week of the job, so don't expect too many perks."_

"Oh, I understand, I understand. Of course, who's going to take over my spot in the U.N?"

_"We haven't figured that out yet, so until we do, you're just going to have to sit tight where you are."_

"I can manage that." Brawlings agreed. "Hell, ever since Vinkus got the Second Rainbow kicked out from underneath him, things have been peachy in the Assembly. He's still around as the Japanese representative, but you know what they say…"

_"Anybody not on the Security Council has about as much chance of being heard as they do for standing in the rain and not getting wet."_

The two men laughed at the old joke, and Brawlings got into his car. "Aah yeah. Well, I'll talk to you later, Bill."

The Representative started the engine and pulled out into the road. He went half a block until he got to the stoplight, which was blinking red. He brought his vehicle to a stop and waited.

And waited.

And waited about twenty seconds before irritation got the better of him, and he drove through it.

Almost immediately, a police siren started up, and flashing lights lined up behind him.

"Oh, piss." Brawlings rolled his eyes and pulled his car over. "I get pulled over the one place my diplomatic immunity doesn't function, sure."

A PR-1 law enforcement robot stepped out of the electric car it drove around and walked towards his driver's side window. Grumbling, Brawlings dug out his license and registration.

The six foot tall PR-1 cut a menacing figure, especially at night. Painted in a blue and black color scheme of the office it served, two eyes that flickered purple sized him up. One hand remained free, while the other was permanently marred by a low grade plasma arm cannon. At standard issue, his weapon could heat and weaken metal, but cause only minor burns. The robot was programmed to increase its power only in emergency situations, but even that was a dicey proposition. One thing that U.S. Robotics hadn't been able to crack, in spite of Sennet's help, was the power requirements.

"Evening, officer." Brawlings joked when the purple-eyed robot lowered its head down to get a better look at him. "Something wrong?"

_"Traffic violation. Resisting authority." _The PR-1 leveled its arm cannon through the window. _"Use of force authorized."_

Preston Brawlings went from jovial to dumbstruck in a moment. "What? Wait, WHAT?!"

_"Crime doesn't pay." _The robot finished dully. Representative Brawlings screamed, and the arm cannon fired…at full power.

The interior of his car went up like a firecracker, and all that was left of the man's head was a still screaming skull and spinal column, attached to a blackened neck.

The PR-1 withdrew its firing arm, took a step back, and pointed the cannon at itself. In another flash of superheated, ionized gas, its own head and the bulk of its upper torso vaporized.

* * *

In an office building a block away, three men sat in a darkened room. One stood by the plexiglass window, shaking his head. One paced in the middle of the space, and the third sat in a chair, calm and at ease.

"It's done." The man at the window announced. He turned and glanced back to the sitting man. "Why use a robot to do it, Darwin?"

"Simple, Mr. Beskin." Darwin Vinkus answered, tenting his fingers under his chin. A glimmer of light made his glasses cast a reflection of the room back out. "Preston Brawlings was a major supporter of the arms race in warlike robots, something that our group doesn't ascribe to. Something I learned a long time ago is that deaths are meaningless when they're unknowns. If a random citizen had been taken out, an apology might be issued, a few vows. But because it was _him_? There's going to be inquiries and congressional hearings that will last for months. Long enough to kill the PR and MR-1 projects for years to come, none of which will give them any concrete answer as to why a robot fired on an unarmed public servant. It's the same reason cop killers are hunted down. It's personal."

Neither Paul Beskin nor the third nervous fellow said anything, and Vinkus forged on.

"Preston Brawlings was a nuisance, but worse, a nationalistic nuisance. If our organization is going to have any hope of making an impact, he had to go. Don't think of it as murder, gentlemen…we're merely clearing the board."

"Funny." The third man finally spoke up. "Now we're advocating wholesale slaughter? How does that make us any different from the Human Supremacy League?"

The stare Vinkus gave him made the man shrink back away.

"Power, Dr. Cossack, by itself, solves nothing." Vinkus explained. "The HSL operates by fear, by acts of terrorism, by zealous perversion. It may be true that their dislike of robots taps into a global concern that we ourselves are a part of, but the moment they sent a gunman to kill Dr. Light and Dr. Wily, any goodwill or sympathy that they could have brought to the cause was erased. As far as the public's concerned, they are no better now than any other radical terrorist faction which caused suffering before them."

Vinkus growled the last part of his sentence. "For a while there, I even thought about having our group work with them. But I suspect that they will burn out quickly at the rate they're going. The end should prove to be explosive, and we will want to stay as far away from the madness as we can."

"So we hide in the shadows, then?" Beskin said.

"For now." Vinkus conceded. "We fill in the cracks with those who hold to our beliefs. We recruit. We listen. We grow. A world of governments looking out for themselves will never succeed. We'll shape a new world, ruled by _one_ government. One that will do what is necessary to preserve the human race."

"Like the Second Rainbow should've done." Beskin surmised. "But do you think the United Nations can make it work?"

"Perhaps." Vinkus shrugged. "I wouldn't hold my breath for it, but I'm willing to try. If it can't…then perhaps the United Nations will need to be replaced."

"Let's not worry about that for now." Yuri Cossack brought them back to the present. "I received a communiqué from Dr. Jane earlier today. She took a poll from those in our organization as to what name they'd prefer to…_not_ go by…And they came up with a result."

Vinkus accepted the small datapad that was offered to him and scanned the contents. His face lit up from the devices' backlight, he glanced up and smiled at the other two.

"Really? They picked that?"

"It's short." Beskin offered.

"It's misleading." Dr. Cossack added.

"And like most good secrets, it gives no indication to its true purpose." Vinkus handed the datapad back and stood up. "Very well then. We should get going. The authorities will be showing up before long, and I'd prefer to stay off camera."

"As do the rest of us in MI9." Dr. Beskin agreed, following him out.

Vinkus couldn't restrain the chuckle at hearing their name. "It's going to take me a while to get used to that."

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_July 30__th__, 2067 C.E._

_10:17 A.M._

"And you're sure that you didn't tell him a Goddamned thing?" Wily demanded.

For the third time, Eddie beeped an irritated no, then flashed a message across his screen.

_**Can I go now?**_

"You haven't given me an answer that I'm satisfied with yet, you sawed off little…"

"Albert!" Dr. Light admonished his closest friend as he marched into the laboratory. He was stunned to see Eddie standing on a work counter with Dr. Wily looming over him, pointing an accusing finger. "What in blazes are you doing with Eddie?"

Wily whirled about, wide-eyed and wild. "It's Blues, Tom! I know that Eddie told him! He had to have!"

"Told him what?"

"About his past life! About the…Damnit, you know what I'm talking about!"

Light rolled his eyes. "His love of jazz music?"

_"Nein, nein, NEIN!"_

"Eight, eight, EIGHT!" Light countered, blowing a raspberry at the end.

"That's not funny, Tom!" Wily stamped his foot against the floor.

Light ignored the comical ravings and looked to Eddie. "Eddie, did you tell Blues anything about his past life?"

_**Dr. Wily gave me a direct order not to reveal any details about the past experiences and memories of Blues, for risk of causing a retrograde Mind Freeze. I have followed that order exactly. Nothing I have told Blues gave any indication that I had known him before.**_

"There, you see?" Light gestured to the small robot. "Thank you, Eddie. You can go ahead and power down for a while. Take a stasis nap.

_**Thank you, Dr. Light.**_

The Fliptop walked off the side of the counter, tumbled on the ground for a bit, then walked off obediently to settle in for a recharge cycle. Wily crossed his arms and glowered at Light.

"I'm telling you, Tom, Blues knows."

"If he knew, he'd be yelling at us and locking up again." Light reassured him. "Come on. What's he doing exactly that has you so spooked?"

Wily gestured to the laboratory's secondary exit, which led out to their garden. "I'll show you."

Light followed his friend as Wily led him to the door. "Half an hour ago, I gave Blues instructions to go weed out our garden, to give our tomatoes and strawberries a chance to grow. Things were going smoothly for a while, but then he started doing something else while he was working. Something I thought he could never do again…or if he could, do it so soon."

"Question orders? Rattle off expectations about parent/child relationships?" Light asked.

Numbly, Wily shook his head and opened up the outside door. Sure enough, unaware that he was being watched, Blues was out in the garden pulling weeds.

The same occurrence that made Wily worry so deeply caused Light's heart to nearly leap out of his chest. For a moment, it was as though the robot who had called him father had never left him.

"Some part of his subconscious memories…must have survived." Light said.

"How?" Wily whispered fearfully. "His Core Module, his brain was _fried._ How in God's name…"

Light shook his head, and smiled. "I don't know." He stood there and watched the miracle, feeling whole for the first time in a month.

Blues was wearing sunglasses.

And he was whistling.


	18. Untraveled World

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Seventeen: Untraveled World**

"_How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!" –_**Ulysses****, Alfred Lord Tennyson**

"_A time will come when men will sit with history before them or with some old newspaper before them and ask incredulously, 'Was there ever such a world?'" __**–H.G. Wells**_

_**

* * *

**_

_From The Diary of Dr. Thomas X. Light_

_October 4__th__, 2069 C.E._

** In two years, Blues has surpassed my wildest dreams. More importantly, the world has left us alone. For that small miracle, I thank the ghost of my friend Titus every day. Somewhere, I know he's smiling. Perhaps he's with Rick and Lisa.**

** Albert, of course, says that I'm speaking nonsense when I mention the hereafter. I haven't in a good long while, at least not when he's around…but today, I had to.**

** We've been working on applied teleportation theory since Blues was (re)activated. Blues has been crucial to our progress. In the midst of putting together working theorems about matter diffusion, power requirements, and molecular framework thresholds, my most advanced robot continued to grow. His whistling has improved by leaps and bounds. He even invented his own song. A little simple for my tastes, but Blues, who spent some time with Eddie and my vast song collection, noted that the best songs were the simplest. Somehow, four tones and five notes is a stretch, even for me. At least I know when he's coming. He insists on using it every time he returns from an errand.**

** But…About today. He asked me a question while I was working on configuring the phasing emitters for our test pad.**

_"When I die, will I go to heaven like your friends?"_

** I think I understand now why some parents have a heart attack when their children ask them where babies come from. I found myself struggling for an answer to that.**

** Blues is the most human-like robot on the planet. He smiles. He gets irritated. He whistles, he sleeps, and sometimes, he even does what we ask him to do without giving us the stink eye. He's like a teenager more often than not, which fits. He looks like he's ten and he acts like he's fourteen. **

** Of course, he's still a robot. **Just** a robot, Albert would casually snark. Would something of him linger after death? **

** I think I told him some rambling answer about how there wasn't an absolute answer to that question, how we humans took it on belief. I don't know if he got it or not. For all his development, Blues seems to struggle with the abstract. Perhaps it's related to his binary origins. Everything boils down to a 1 or a 0. An on or an off.**

** But maybe he understood it this time. He nodded for a few moments when I got done, and then spoke again.**

_"If there is an afterlife, then people are reassured. Therefore, something of me will remain when I go offline. If this is untrue, then the statement is irrelevant to begin with. There is no loss either way."_

**Blues' purpose in life, it seems, is to make me question everything I ever knew. And I still haven't figured out exactly how he kept his eccentricities after the reboot. Best I could figure is something remained on in his tertiary memory drives. I can't figure it out exactly, not from the occasional diagnostics. I'm not about to tell Albert about my suspicions, either. He's still my friend, but he and I have more or less agreed to disagree on anything involving Blues.**

** Every so often, we take a break from the big projects and step back to something on a smaller scale. Tomorrow, for example, we'll be doing some tests down at LightTech's main Research and Development labs. There's been a few industrial accidents which have caught our attention, so we've also been working on designing a sturdier alloy for our robots who work with plasma welders.**

** Blues has volunteered to try out the "Plasma burst-proof" welding shield we've designed for the KIFs. He'd deny it, but I think he's looking forward to it. I caught him smiling once.**

**

* * *

**

_LightTech Industries HQ _

_Tokyo, Japan_

_October 5__th__, 2069 C.E._

_10:13 A.M._

"All right, is everyone clear for this?" Wily called out. He, Dr. Light, and Blues were the chief participants and observers in the experiment, but a few other, well-trusted technicians were on site for the proceedings as well. One of the larger laboratories had been converted for the test, which gave it the appearance of a firing range. As Wily spoke, the white-coated engineers dashed for the relative safety of the reinforced barricades they'd erected around ground zero. Wily took one last look around before he, too, moved out of the danger zone for his console. "I don't want any foul-ups on this one. Worker's comp shouldn't have to cover stupidity here!"

Blues lifted the shield, respectful of the heft of it. He was also wearing a thick mesh bodysuit of gray material with red highlights, a functional full-body equivalent to the welder's aprons of old. Beside him, Dr. Light made one last visual inspection of the burst-proof shield and clucked his tongue.

"You know, we really should just put this on a test stand, Blues. It would be safer."

"Then the test would be flawed." Blues tapped the tapered end at the bottom of the oval shield on the ground. The energy diffusive, reinforced metal alloy they'd designed for use in it had been painted over with a glaring white color scheme, rounded by a red outline. "You won't know if the KIFs can use these if we don't have a robot of equivalent size and strength—me—using the prototype. A shield that deflects and disperses plasma won't be of any use to them if they can't hold on to it."

"Right." Light didn't seem entirely convinced by the argument. "And nothing else is coloring your decision?"

Blues made it a point to lower his glasses and stare at Light with a raised eyebrow. "Come again?"

Light pursed his lips. "I should order you to just set the shield up on a stand and come behind the shields with us."

"So why don't you?" Blues lifted his glasses back on again.

Light held for several seconds, snapping back to focus only when Wily whistled at him.

"Tom, get out of there already! I'd like to get this test done with so we can get back to work on the teleporters!"

"All right, all right." Light turned back and nodded at Blues. "We'll proceed as planned then."

"I don't understand why you seem so worried." Blues wrapped his hand around the bar-grip welded on the backside of the shield and lined up the small transparisteel viewer slot with his head. "Must be a human thing."

"Must be." Light agreed, smiling softly. He stepped around one of the barriers and made his way to Dr. Wily. "All right, Albert. Let's run through the test sequence."

Wily entered in a few keystrokes, then nodded to the technicians below. "All stations ready?"

One by one, the small cluster glanced up and nodded. Some would take measurements closer to the source. Some were controlling the plasma arc emitters and watching the power and fuel feeds. The cameras and microphones, automated inside of the laboratory, did the recording of the test without human intervention.

A soft chime from Wily's console indicated the recording had started. He cleared his throat and spoke. "LightTech Industries, experimental technology video. Classification: "Burst-proof" reinforced shield. The date is October 5th, 2069 C.E. This test is meant to collect evidence on the effectiveness of a new shield type for use with our humanoid class welder/tool-using worker robots, better known as the KIF series. On site are myself, Dr. Light, and…" He quickly rattled off the names of the four other LightTech employees in the room. "The shield is being carried by our prototype Advanced Robot, DL# double zero, Protoman, more commonly referred to by myself and Dr. Light as Blues. The test will occur in three stages. In stage one, we will test the effectiveness of the shield in a typical situation; normal welding. In stage two, we will simulate a minor plasma overload. In stage three, we will simulate a plasma overload, similar to the ones listed in reports as the cause of some industrial accidents."

Wily took one last look around. "Is everyone clear?" He took the silence as a yes. "Blues, are you ready?"

"Ready as I'm going to be." Blues nodded. The robot picked up a thick, opaque welder's mask and slipped it on over his head, not bothering to take his glasses off. He moved next to a steel I-beam and the welding unit beside it. "Go ahead and power up the welder."

The welding unit was of the same kind that the KIF series had integrated into their arm; compact, capable of both spot welds and extended plasma arc cutting when necessary. Most of the reported overloads were the result of improper safety checks and failed maintenance, usually a misalignment that was never corrected. A power feed went into the back of the welder, and the capacitors inside held the charge until it was expended through a small quantity of electro-reactive gas passed between the welder's arc points. A small EM field generator was the only major difference between the welding unit and others who had preceded it in the years before.

When it came to life, Blues raised his shield up, then reached his free arm around it and picked up the device. "Hm. This thing's a bit bulky, when it's not a part of your construction." He observed for the benefit of the cameras. "Beginning test weld sequence."

The first phase was easy enough; Having worked with welding and soldering equipment at the laboratory that the two kept at home, Blues was able to melt and burn a hole through the end of the test steel beam without any trouble. Sparks flew up and out of the point, but the plasmaburst-proof welding shield worked like a charm.

Blues eased off of the trigger and glanced up, nodding. "Phase 1 looked good here. How's the data?"

"Coming in now…" Wily said, eyes racing across his screen. He nodded when the final data compilement clicked in. "Yes. I think we've got it." The mad scientist looked over to Light. "I'm ready for Phase 2 when you are."

Light signaled the technicians overseeing the power feed, and they amped up the charge. Another one set the emitters slightly out of alignment from each other. The team gave Blues a thumbs up when they finished.

"Go for it, Blues!" Light encouraged the robot.

Behind his welding mask, and the sunglasses underneath them, Blues seemed as though he was rolling his eyes. "Now the fun part."

The welding unit reactivated as he thumbed the jury-rigged trigger, and a larger stream of the arc welder's cutting edge shot out. The momentary discharge destabilized the containment field, and a small pop of plasma exploded against the steel I-Beam. Blues snapped his hand back away from the device as though it had caught on fire, which wasn't very far from what had actually occurred. The welder clattered to the floor and shut off.

Blues said nothing for a moment, then lifted up his welding mask and shook his head. "So that's what a plasma burst feels like."

"And that's from an indirect strike." Wily observed. "Outside of your hand, how's the rest of you doing?"

"My hand and arm was the only part of my body which registered anomalous heat and energy readings." Blues called back to the development team. "The shield did what it had to without any problems."

"Good." Light smiled. "For this next part, I want you to set the welder on top of the I-Beam, but keep your entire body behind the shield."

"Right. Because in Phase 3…" Blues started.

"…We blow up the welder entirely, yes." Wily finished. "All teams ready?" He swept the room again for one last check, then pointed at Blues. "Set it up, and let's get started."

Blues picked up the welding unit and gingerly set it down on the steel I-Beam. He raised his shield, dropped his welding mask down, and braced himself.

"Beginning power transfer now." One of the technicians announced.

The welding unit sprang to life again, blurting out a sharp needle of plasma that burned harmlessly in the air. Through the transparisteel window, Blues watched the needle grow larger and destabilize. A faint whine began to ring through the air around him.

"Power buildup is continuing." The robot said, speaking for the recording. "My audio receptors are picking up a high frequency noise…probably the result of electromagnetic field oscillation."

The arc of plasma popped when more power was bled into it, more than the capacitors could keep up with. It ballooned out, swelling far past its original and acceptable size, and ate through a part of the I-Beam supporting the welding unit. The device was going to clatter to the ground, and perhaps bounce in an unexpected direction.

"Shut it down!" Blues called out.

"Shutting it down." The technician at the power controls quickly pulled the lever controlling the feed back, but it didn't stop the buildup.

The whine grew even louder, angry, buzzing, and furious. Both Light and Wily found themselves unable to look away as the small point of plasma arc that had once been no larger than a thumb expanded to the size of a human head…then even larger still. It changed colors, swirling from a dull red to a blue, and then finally to pure white.

"_Mein Gott."_ Wily swallowed. The reported industrial accidents all made sense now. An unchecked power buildup, perhaps the capacitors failing to measure out precise amounts of power to the plasma emitters had created something he and Light were eerily familiar with.

After all, they'd built technology designed to release the free-floating plasma toroid that they were now staring at. This one was just larger, more dangerous…and uncontrolled.

"Blues, get out of there!" Light screamed. "That thing's going to…"

The sphere of plasma finally exceeded the ability of the electromagnetic field to contain the superheated, supercharged gas. When the field unraveled, the highly condensed plasma rushed out in every direction as fast as it could.

In other words, it exploded.

The wash of heat was so intense that it slipped past the protective barricades. The concussive blast, which didn't travel as far and dissipated more readily, still had enough power to slam into Blues, who stood at ground zero. The plasmaburst proof shield protected him from the heatblast and certain vaporization, deflecting the storm around him.

It couldn't protect him when the blast tossed him backwards and crushed his body into the barricade immediately behind. The dented structure clattered to the floor, carrying Blues with it. The robot tumbled off of it on landing, lying motionless with the shield beside him.

"Jesus!" Light sprang up from his position and rushed to the robot's side. "Blues, are you all right? Blues!"

Light tore the welding mask off of Protoman's head and lifted up the raven-haired robot's glasses.

The optics behind them were wide-open, dialed out, and dull.

Light looked up to Wily. "He's inactive. The shock must have shut him down."

Blues stirred in Light's arms, and squinted his eyes shut. "Where's my glasses?" The robot demanded.

Light slipped them back on. "Blues, are you all right?"

The robot pulled himself away from Light, steadied back on his feet, and ran a self-diagnostic. "A little banged up from an impact, but it doesn't look like there are any permanent injuries." Blues chuckled a bit, a sound that caught the development team off their guard. "Wow, talk about keeping on ticking." He looked around for his shield and scooped it up, examining the curved surface. "Incredible." He marveled, tracing a finger across the surface. "Not a dent, ding, or mark of discoloration! This shield worked even better than you thought it would, Dr. Wily!"

Light tilted his head to the side. "Are you sure you're feeling all right, Blues?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Blues asked. "The shield worked, and I'm still here."

"Well, yes, but…" Light couldn't finish the sentence aloud. _You've never laughed before._

"You worry too much, doc." Blues slapped Light on the side of his arm and walked away from ground zero of the test site. "I gotta find some steel cable for this shield. Darn thing's like a lucky charm, and I think I'd like to hang on to it." He paused momentarily to look over to Wily. "You guys mind? No? Okay, then."

The robot strolled off in his search for supplies, whistling as he walked, leaving the bewildered co-founders of LightTech and their employees behind.

It took Wily a moment before he reached for the recording equipment's kill switch.

"Test…successful." He said, for the benefit of the microphones.

The cameras went dark.

* * *

_Kamya Wellness Center_

_Osaka, Japan_

_October 7__th__, 2069 C.E._

_2:11 P.M._

Cedric Froid had become a respected psychiatrist in the years following his graduation. Thanks to the reputation of his now deceased father, he had clients all over the globe that sought his services, and had contracts with five different clinics, each in a different nation. Mental wellness, something everyone tried to reach for, was a boom industry for the survivors, old and young, of the new world.

Of all the clients he had, though, few were as important to the man as the white-haired scientist and programmer that paced in circles in the middle of his Osaka clinic's interview room.

Light couldn't seem to decide what to do with his hands. They switched from being in his pockets to waving in the air, and occasionally stroking his beard, which seemed to have only gotten bigger and thickened out. He was looking more and more like Santa Claus every day, save for the lack of rosy cheeks.

"I just…I mean, what the Hell am I supposed to do with Blues? He's laughing? He's lugging around that shield all the time now?"

Cedric hid his smile behind his clipboard, staring over the top edge every so often as he wrote down small little notes. He preferred the feel of paper, rather than a digital journal. "You know, Tom, I seem to recall that when Blues wore his sunglasses all the time, it didn't bother you. Carrying the shield that preserved his life may simply be more self-expression in the same vein. Why do his new actions seem disturbing?"

"Because…well, just because!" Light grumbled. He finally stopped pacing and collapsed into a chair. "He could have died, and he was laughing about it. I tell you, Ced, something isn't right in his head."

The psychiatrist set his clipboard aside and tented his fingers. "If Blues is a robot, why can't you just deactivate him and figure it out for yourself?"

"I can't." Light stated flatly. "I couldn't do that to him."

Unaware of the history between Light and Blues, Dr. Froid leaned forward. "And that is why I'm more interested in how you think, Tom, than how Blues does."

Froid picked up his clipboard and asked his next question casually. "Would you say that you are concerned for Blues' well being?"

"…Yeah, that's a given."

"Why, exactly?" Cedric nudged him. "Why do you care about him so much? Given what you've told me about how Albert treats him some days, how most people would, your reaction would seem a touch unusual."

"How, exactly?" Light responded. "That I treat him as a person?"

"Yes, that would be an issue." Dr. Froid tapped his pen against his leg. "Most individuals see robots merely as tools. You, however, are different."

Light leaned back in his chair. "And is that bad?"

"It isn't good or bad. It's just different." Froid clarified. "So why do you interact with Blues on a more personal level?"

Light thought about it for nearly a minute before he spoke, testing even Cedric's patience with the pregnant pause. "Years ago, I remember thinking that robots capable of learning, like all our Core Module mechanoids are to one degree or another, might eventually learn about humans and human nature. I would look at Eddie and wonder if I'd ever given him cause, or if I would give cause, for him to resent me."

Cedric blinked, but said nothing. Interrupting the patient would bring an end to the breakthrough.

"The Core Module was based on two principles; Asimovian heuristics, and FAI…Friendly Artificial Intelligence. Robots, from the moment they are created, innately want to serve mankind for its betterment. It's in their programming. But if they could advance and learn beyond that limited scope…"

"You feared that robots might turn against us?"

"It's an impossibility with the Laws." Light quickly pointed out. "Any robot that breaks the Laws of Robotics suffers immediate Mind Freeze, an irrevocable fusing of the positronic pathways that destroys the logic gates and shuts them down."

Cedric grasped for the point. "But with that being, true, Tom, why would resentment be a factor?"

Light smiled sadly. "Not all robots made in this world…by other companies…carry the Core Module's guidelines. They might see the resentment in those who do, and do something regrettable. We've made the technology smarter, Cedric, but we're still, collectively, as narrow-minded as ever."

Cedric scribbled in a few more observations before looking back up. "You know, these cynical perceptions are usually the domain of your counterpart."

"We trade off some days." Light joked.

"Hm." Cedric reviewed his notes. "So to summarize, you interact with Blues on a personal level because you feel that he might come to resent you if you weren't friendly and treated him well."

"Yeah, that would be it, all right." Light said. The psychiatrist put two fingers to his forehead and rubbed it.

"I think that there's another reason, though."

"Oh? Like what?"

"You have no children." Dr. Froid explained. "You worry about Blues. You've taken on a nurturing role. Based on his interactions, he sounds as though his mentality is that of a teenager, and he drives you crazy some days. If I had my guess, Dr. Light, I would say that you interact with Blues so closely because you see him as a surrogate family. The son you never had. That's why you worry about him so much; we're always concerned for our children."

Light stared down at the floor, saying nothing.

"Do you think my hypothesis is wrong, Thomas?"

"No…I just never thought of it…" Light caught himself and shook his head. "No, that's not true. I've thought about how he asks me to explain things, and how I feel like a parent when I have to give an answer. He even calls me dad sometimes. I let it go, but maybe I liked that."

Light looked up to Dr. Froid. "Is that wrong? That he sees me as his father and I look at him like a son?"

"It's not right or wrong, it's…"

"…It's just different." Light finished the end of the sentence simultaneously. He tugged on his beard. "Yeah, it is. So why do I have so many problems with him?"

"Parents set rules for their children. Guidelines of how to act, while they're learning and growing up." Froid surmised. "The Core Module gives Blues the rules to live by, and you add more besides all the time. Sometimes, children chafe under the restrictions."

Dr. Froid wrote one last thing down on his clipboard and gave Light a reassuring smile. "You want my advice? Accept it. If Blues sees you as his father, be his father. He may be a robot by construction, but underneath that, he's a boy. If you're afraid of him coming to resent you, never treat him any differently than you would if he was human. You do that much, see him like any other child? Things will turn out all right."

Light drummed his fingertips on the armest of his chair and laughed. "You realize you've just managed to summarize the answer to a problem I've been wrestling with for more than a decade?"

"You're a programmer. Wily's a roboticist. I'm a psychiatrist." Froid touched the side of his head. "It helps to look at problems from different perspectives."

"So it does." Light stood up and smoothed out his shirt. "Thanks for seeing me again, Cedric."

The psychiatrist got up and shook his hand. "It's always good to see an old friend, Tom. Glad I could help. I suppose you've got to hurry back to Tokyo before you're missed, eh?"

"No, actually. Not this trip." Light slipped his hands into his pockets. "Wily and I are taking a mini-vacation away from each other."

"Mini-vacation?" Froid raised an eyebrow. "To get away from each other?"

"Even though we're friends, there are days we grate on each other's nerves more than usual. It was Al's idea about two years ago. Every eight months or so, we shake hands, poof away from Tokyo for a week or so, and come back refreshed. Blues and Eddie keep the house presentable while we're gone, too."

"It's not a bad idea, really." Dr. Froid reasoned. "Even married couples prefer to have some time to themselves."

"…You do realize that Al and I aren't a couple, right?"

"No, but you act like one some days." Froid guffawed. He slapped Light on the back and gestured to the door. "Well, if you have some time, I was thinking you and I might go and grab an early dinner. You were my last appointment for the day, and there's supposed to be this little hibachi grill joint nearby I've been wanting to try out."

Light's stance softened. "Well, all right. Never turned down food in my life."

"Is _that _why you've rounded out so much?" Cedric mused innocently. He suffered the punch in the arm with a tolerant laugh. "Yeah, you're feeling all right."

"And what if I hadn't punched you?" Light asked.

Cedric held the door open for Light, humming to himself. "Then I'd have you schedule another session. After all, you've got the time to kill, right?"

"Well, time I do have." Light admitted. "I'm sure Wily doesn't even miss me."

"Where do you suppose he goes on these little vacations you two take?"

Light waited as Dr. Froid shut and locked his door, then strolled for the building's exit. "How should I know? He probably finds some tropical island to hide out at."

* * *

_Andes Mountain Range_

_Chilean Province, South America_

_October 8__th__, 2069 C.E._

_4:36 P.M._

The construction was proceeding smoothly. The robots that Wily had sent to the construction site were working out well, and most of the understructure was taken care of.

Staring at the electronic blueprints of his secret robotics laboratory, safe from the eyes and destructive arms of the world, Wily had to congratulate himself. Embedded as it was in the high mountains, it was safe from the elements. Neither wind, nor rain, nor sleet…well, that was the general idea.

The true genius of the sprawling complex was the labrynthian network of tunnels, sewage lines, power conduits, and access corridors that criss-crossed the mountainside's interior. Everything that a robotics factory of LightTech's exacting standards would need was locked away in the reinforced caverns. Even with all the empty space that the robots had created, the architectural design used the natural lines of the rock, and geometrically aligned support beams made the mountain as strong as it had been as solid stone. Perhaps stronger. The complex was self-sufficient, equipped with all the power and water purification facilities needed to run the production center without complaint, pollution, and most importantly, heat blooms that would make it visible to satellite and high altitude observation drone's thermal imaging. The complex had two hearts, both buried so deeply that they qualified as being in a "Sub" sub-basement…The dual fusion generators that gave more power than the mountain facility required, and a Stable Matter Synthesis Module, or SMSM, which eagerly sucked up the bulk of the fusion generator's gains.

The SMSM, originally designed for use during the build of SKYLIGHT by other members of the Rainbow who worked on the project with Wily and Light, was what made the secret enterprise work. All the excavated stone from the mountain ranges' interior had been put through the energy-exhausting device, broken down into base particles, and reassembled into everything he needed. Without that most precious, most groundbreaking piece of technology, the secret laboratory would have all been a pipe dream.

The dull thud of one of the worksite's Big Eye compaction robots made Wily glance up from his screen momentarily, pulling him from the self-congratulatory reverie. It was apparently coming back in from its latest assignment for a recharge. Wily smiled at the precision, the honesty of the mechanical creature, and briefly felt a twinging moment of conflict between his appreciation for robots and his irritation for the world's apathy at their proliferation and overuse. It passed quickly, though. His mind, always fluctuating with ideas, moved on to greener pastures.

In some ways, the so-called Mad Scientist mused, the SMSM had been the precursor to the yet unfinished warp transport technology. The SMSM broke apart matter into its basest atomic components and reshaped the mix into alternative, desired configurations. It disassembled, then reassembled matter into wholly different forms. It was limited, though, to simple items. Sheets of metal. Rods of plastic or glass, coils of wiring covers. Complex materials, like computers, robots, machinery, and especially living flora and fauna were out of the question. No SMSM that Wily knew of could manage that stunt. It was likely they never could, at least not in his lifetime. Replicators, so often glossed over in science fiction shows, were out of reach.

But warp technology…

If they could get it to work, it would make everything so much easier. It would revolutionize how goods were sent from one place on the world to another. It would lower heat and carbon emissions down to miniscule levels. It would…

It would, to paraphrase one of Light's favorite lines, **"Change the world."**

If they could make it work.

Wily shut down his display and marched the device back into the nearest section of the facility's underground tunnels. The robots had their orders, and everything was continuing to function as expected. The facility would be ready for use by early 2070, and the work crews could be sent elsewhere when the factory powered up, and the first produced robots assumed their duties and began maintenance and basic operations.

Pleased with the home away from home he had created, Wily exited the structure and headed back for his rented gyrocopter. Old as it was, it lacked a GPS transponder. Perfect, for where he traveled. He paid well enough that the owner never asked questions as well, or reported it to the local authorities. If things continued at this pace, he would have more resources than he knew what to do with.

He could even, Wily realized as he took the last steps towards his transport, make a second secret laboratory, if he wanted. If they could crack teleportation technology and make it viable soon…Well, a second place wouldn't be impossible at all.

"It would, however, be stupid." Wily berated himself, climbing up into the cockpit and securing his harness. He flipped the necessary switches to bring the aircraft to life and felt the hum of the engines as the main rotor began to spin again. His quick dismissal softened somewhat, and he stared at the mountains around and beneath him. "Besides, where in God's name would you be able to hide a second fortress of solitude?" He asked himself quietly. "The Himalayas?"

He laughed at that ridiculous sentiment, brought the engines to full power, and lifted off of the smooth landing surface that the Big Eyes had stomped flat months before. Dr. Wily coasted out from the work in progress and began his long trip north. It would take him from the mountains that pierced the heavens to the valleys and civilization below and away. All of this would be a faint memory once more until he returned some months later, eager to learn what had been done in his absence.

One easily suppressed. One he was required to keep hidden.

Even from his best friend.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_October 14__th__, 2069 C.E._

_6:38 P.M._

Fiesta night.

A tradition begun by Dr. Wily to counteract the gamut of Asian cuisine that he and Dr. Light usually endured when their processed meats and hamburger buns ran out, fiesta night relied on a full out spread of Tex-Mex fare, every conceivable taco topping and condiment, three different brands of hot sauce, both Tequila _and_ beer, churros, Margaritas for variety, and deep fried Taquitos. A day and a half's worth of calories in one sitting. Heaven, followed shortly thereafter by excruciating pain.

Light leaned up against the wall outside of the bathroom with his arms crossed. He rolled his eyes when Wily made the loudest retching sound he'd given off all night, then sighed. Eddie and Blues, who were standing nearby simply to witness the unusual social stimulus glanced to their Creator for instructions.

Light offered none, and spoke through the door. "You're not dying on me in there, I hope."

"Ohhh, I wish I was." Wily moaned. "God, how much did I eaaafllrrghhhh...!"

Plopping noises echoed out, and Light flinched. "Jesus, get it in the bowl!"

Eddie popped his lid open and released a strong puff of air freshener. Light gave a grateful nod to the small, squat mechanoid and looked to Blues. "Did you get all the food put away, Blues?"

"Yeah, but I didn't do the dishes." The raven-haired robot replied flippantly.

"That's all right, I can take care of those." Light reassured him. "Thanks for storing the leftovers, Blues."

"Given what it did to Doc Wily, I'm surprised you'd consider going back for another meals' worth."

"Oh, it wasn't the seven layer burrito that did him in…although that much sour cream never helped anyone." Light shook his head. "No, Al's in this predicament because he hit up the worm a little hard."

"Worm? What worm?"

Light chuckled. "Sorry, that's a colloquialism. Slang. Too much Tequila."

"I estimate his blood alcohol level was around .17 before he rushed in there."

"Hmph. He used to be able to handle more." Light stroked his beard. "Well, no matter." He knocked on the bathroom door. "All right, Al. What did you learn? Or remember, at least?"

The sound of a flush masked Wily's groans for a moment, and he opened up the door a few seconds later, in a pale flop sweat.

"Don't drink so much Tequila?"

"Thattaboy." Light patted his friend on the shoulder and did his best to ignore a small bit of chunder that was hanging from Wily's mustache. "How are you feeling?"

"Less miserable than I was before?" Wily stumbled out of the doorway and motioned behind him. "I didn't get all of it in the toilet, though. Clean that up for me, Blues."

The dismissive way in which he'd uttered it seemed to make the Advanced robot prototype bristle. _"Excuse _me?" Blues repeated. He lowered his sunglasses to the edge of his nose and stared over the rims at the mess of Wily's upchuck. "You want me to clean up a mess _you made_ because you got carried away with the liquor?"

"Yes, I think that was the order I just gave you." Wily snapped irritably. The old man jerked his thumb towards the bathroom again. "Now clean it up."

"Now, Al, I don't think that…" Light began, trying to stem another one of the inevitable arguments which would leave Wily satisfied and Blues fuming while following a directive he disagreed with.

Unlike in past events, however, this time was different.

This time, the course of Protoman's thought processes took an unexpected fork in the pathways, and allowed him to circumvent the supposed immutable Laws.

Blues stood up a little taller, slid his sunglasses back on, and set his jaw. He responded with a single word that cut Light's reasoning off cold.

"No."

Light blinked, then whirled on Blues in surprise. Wily's eyes couldn't have gotten any wider without bulging from their sockets.

_"Vas?" _Wily croaked.

Blues ground his teeth together, and added a strong shake of his head to the crystal clear message. "No, I'm not doing it. If you want to get sick and ruin your own health, that's your problem. You clean up the mess yourself."

"You…" Wily stammered. "You…you, you can't say that. You can't do that! The Second Law, Blues! A robot must follow all orders given by a human being!"

Blues hesitated at that, suddenly realizing the disconnect that had taken place between the norm and his own actions. That moment of fear came and went, and he resumed his grim gaze. "You give me an order that makes sense, I'll follow it. You want to waste my time, you can forget it."

"Blues." Dr. Light gasped. "How in…How can you say that? You should have gone into Mind Freeze for saying that!"

Blues snorted and turned about. "Looks like I'm still here. You need me for anything **worthwhile**, Dr. Light, I'll be outside."

The robot sauntered off and started whistling his haunting melody.

The alcohol purged from his system, Wily quickly regained the color in his face and his concentration. He stumbled to Light and gripped his friend's arms tightly. "This can't happen. If word of this got out, we'd…"

"Yeah, I know. LightTech would be in serious trouble." Light muttered back lowly. He watched Blues fade from view. "As for how he's doing it, resisting the Laws…It's got to be something from earlier." He refused to mention it by name, but Wily knew what he meant. Protoman's first Mind Freeze, his reactivation.

Something had to have gone wrong…or perhaps, very right.

The possibility remained more clouded by danger than hope, though.

"We have to shut him down." Wily insisted. "If he can break the Second Law, what's to stop him from breaking the First Law? Harming humans?"

"Will you be quiet?" Light snapped. "I know Blues better than you. He's not going to fly off the handle and go on a rampage."

"You can't take that chance!" Wily barked. "We have to deactivate him!"

Light thought about it for a moment longer, then recalled the advice that Cedric Froid had given him.

See the boy. Not the robot.

"No. Not yet." Light shook his head. "It's not come to that yet. Let me talk to him. I can take care of it, Al. Just let me handle it."

Wily seemed dubious of the plan, but offered a nod after a quick deliberation. "If you can't, Thomas…"

"I know." Light interrupted. He pulled back, a worried father once more. "I know."

* * *

Blues had taken to treating the roof of Dr. Light's house as his own zone of solitude. Even with how much he weighed, being made of metal and circuitry, his Creators didn't hear him stomping about on the shingles. What he loved best about it, though, was that it offered him a terrific view of the sky, almost untainted by the glow of the Tokyo lights. Something about the stars, tiny dots of light that indicated far off places in the Universe, calmed him.

A ladder bounced against the side of the roof, startling the robot out of his concentration. Blues raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses as plodding footsteps brought the hands and head of Dr. Light into view.

The old, white-haired man smiled. "Mind if I come up, Blues?"

The robot looked away and rumbled air past his lips. "It's a free country. How'd you know I was up here?"

"A guess." Light explained, climbing up the last few aluminum steps of the ladder and gingerly moving on to the roof. He sidestepped up the incline and plopped beside Blues, grateful for the coarse, sandpaper like surface of the shingles. "When I was a boy, I used to climb up on the roof to get away from my parents and be alone. I thought it might run in the family."

"You can't use genetics as an explanation, Doc." Blues reminded the man. "I'm a robot, remember?"

"A robot designed to look human and interact with humans." Light countered. "You may not have my DNA in you, Blues, but you have picked up our behaviors. That's why I'm not surprised to find you up here."

"Yeah?" Blues grunted. "What if I decided to run away?"

Light thought about that, and drew his legs up closer to his gut. "Well, you could, I suppose, but where would you go?"

Blues seemed to deflate under the question.

Light sighed. "Look. We're not going to deactivate you, or take you apart."

"Why not?" The robot demanded. Blues raised his sunglasses up into his hair, and looked at his creator. The emotional contrast in his face from the norm startled Light.

Blues was frightened.

"I don't know what caused it, but I know that it's wrong, that it isn't supposed to happen." He looked away and slipped his shades back on. "But the fact is, it did. Wily gave me an order, and I refused to follow it."

"It was a stupid order. I wouldn't have followed it." Light scoffed. "You're afraid, then?"

"A robot must obey all orders given to it by a human." Blues intoned the Second Law of Robotics perfectly. "It's hardwired into my Core Module, but I told him no. I _wanted_ to tell him no." Blues whirled on Light. "Why aren't you afraid? You know what this means better than anyone, Doctor Light! If I can break the Second Law, what's to stop me from breaking the Third…or the First?"

The heavy thud of Light's palm on the top of his head stopped Protoman's rant cold. Light's blue eyes stared hard at the sunglasses of his creation.

"That you're questioning it, worrying about it, gives me all the reassurance I ever needed. Blues, you are a magnificent robot. I don't know what's caused you to act like this, and I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to figure it out…but I know in my heart that you will never become a danger to humanity. There is no monster trapped inside of you."

Light ruffled the robot's hair and smiled. "Yes, I am afraid. But I'm afraid _for _you…not because of you. Whatever you're going through, I promise that I'll always be here for you."

"Why?" Blues asked timidly.

The old man smiled at him, and the world felt right again.

"Because you're my son."

* * *

_Applied Sciences Symposium_

_London, England_

_October 24__th__, 2069 C.E._

_10:30 A.M._

_**"…gives me great pleasure to welcome our next speaker, a legend in the robotics community and a nominee for the Nobel Prize in Physics, Dr. Thomas Xavier Light!"**_

A roar of applause and cheers echoed in the great hall set aside for the Symposium's use, which only increased when the iconic robotologist, complete in his trademark white laboratory coat and brown trousers, strolled up to the podium.

Still cameras flashed their strobes, active feeds began recording both in enhanced flatscreen and the holo-formats. Though it was unlikely that the news networks would dedicate more than two minutes of airtime during their evening broadcasts to the Symposium, the organizers had come prepared.

Light made a show of straightening his tie and offering a humble grin for the audience. "Thirty years I've been a scientist, and I still can't do a proper Double Windsor knot." It earned him scattered laughter, and helped to break both the tension he felt, and whatever was left in the room.

Light cleared his throat and turned to a teleprompter set up just off to the side of his platform. The technology behind them had changed very little since they were introduced in the last century, at least at the core. The surface additions, however, were something else.

The teleprompter registered his iris scan from its viewer and sent a signal to the rest of the room. The lights dimmed, the blinds slid shut, and a holoprojector set up on stage behind him rose up on its hydraulic struts to deploy for a clear view. Now, the presentation that he and Dr. Wily had spent a good two and a half days working on would be seen by someone besides Blues for the first time.

Light only prayed that he and his associate had programmed it correctly.

"Many of you, I imagine, expect that I've come here to talk about robots." Light began. He rested his left arm on the podium and leaned forward slightly. "After all, robots are what my company is famous for. LightTech Industries has done a great deal to work towards the rebuilding and the _improvement_ of our world, from the humble EDY series to the more omnipresent Metools. Robots remain a valuable resource, both in the public and private sectors, and I remain as dedicated as ever to developing newer and more useful models. Unfortunately, that isn't why I came here today, in spite of what it says on your programs."

That caused a stir in the audience for a few moments, and Light smiled. "I decided it might be a better use of my time and yours to speak about a different project that we have been working on for some years now behind closed doors. It, like our robots, has the capacity to have a profound impact on the world. It will forever change how the world works."

The holoprojector kicked on, and displayed several different vehicles. "Our world is a very vast creation, and to get from one point to another can be very time consuming. If you drive, a three hundred mile trip will probably take you five to six hours. Without stops. If you fly on an airline from New York to London, for example, you'll be on the plane all night and arrive jet-lagged. Want to ride a boat? Pray that you're on the newest hydrofoil. Even bullet trains still take considerable time to cross a country. No, at some point in our lives, we have all wondered, _wouldn't it be nice to simply snap our fingers, vanish from one place, and reappear where we needed to be almost instantly?_ It's a popular concept in science fiction. The Star Trek television shows and movies called them transporters; you stepped onto a pad, vanished in a beam of light, and reappeared in an entirely different place. Travel without the need for a vehicle, or energy expensive, nonrenewable fuels. Just a few ergs of power and you were somewhere else. Naturally, though, such miraculous feats are a product of Hollywood, and have no bearing on the real world."

Light gave the audience two seconds to consider that thought before he smiled. "Or at least, that was true until now."

A dead silence came back at him, unusual, but not unanticipated. Light stroked his beard for a moment before continuing on. "Dr. Wily and myself have been studying, developing, and building the frameworks and principles behind matter disassembly and reassembly, or "Warp" transportation, for the better part of a decade. We had a starting point with the SMSM developed in response to the Epoch crisis. In the space around Project SKYLIGHT, the Stable Matter Synthesis Module collected broken down gear and fully one hundred years' worth of orbiting satellites and debris. It was fed into the machine, broken down first into its base elements, and then to the subatomic level, into a soup of protons, neutrons, and electrons. The SMSM's reassembly components allowed the work crews to forge raw materials on site, sparing the world taxpayers the additional expense of launching every piece of building materials needed. In short, the technology to disassemble and then reassemble matter has existed for a decade. What took us a very long time was to miniaturize the components and preserve functionality while reducing energy consumption, as the SMSM drew power from a triad of the then top of the line nuclear fusion generators, supplied from Dr. Flynn at the European Fusion Research Institute. Obviously, we cannot have three fusion generators set up everywhere, for reasons of security and expense."

Light set his hands on the podium. More people were listening now. There had been incredulity before, but interest was taking hold. "What we discovered, a year after we started, was that our calculations indicated it would require far less energy to break down and reintegrate an existing molecular pattern than it would to reshape it. Conservation of mass, it seems, applies to the physics of teleportation, and in our favor. Once we had established that, we were then faced with how best to handle the mechanics."

The projection changed to an image of a block of some sort of metal sitting on a platform, with another platform of similar make hovering a short distance from it.

"Starting as we were, we had only a few basic principles to guide us. Whatever we transported would have to first be scanned at the atomic level; a "Builder's guide", as it were, that would have to be sent along in the datastream with the object's contents, so it could be reconstituted upon arrival. Secondly, a large percentage, if not all of the transport, would have to be done via energy, which meant that there would still be a significant power requirement just for the change in state. Last of our pre-existing conditions was this: Any transmission degrades over time, and any recording or copy loses viability the more times it is repeated, so warp technology would only be feasible if we could prevent loss of energy and matter over great distances."

Light paused. "In tribute to LightTech's Core Module and its Asimovian Heuristics, we refer to these as the Laws of Teleportation: The Law of Form, the Law of Dynamics, and the Law of Cohesion." He winked at the crowd. "Wily wanted to call the third one the Law of marriages."

That errant remark, carefully crafted and slipped in at a time of dry technical speech, created sporadic laughter through the Symposium's audience. Light's grin spun free as he acknowledged them. "But, let's talk about taking theory to application. The model we've developed for warp transportation relies on three pieces of technology. The first is a global Global Positioning Satellite Network to determine launch and destination coordinates. Thanks to the continuing endeavors of Dr. Georges Shaler and the international space agencies, our existing GPS network will be a viable resource for an estimated 100 years, and perhaps longer, with the watchful protection of SKYLIGHT deflecting and destroying spaceborne impact threats small and large.

"The second piece of technology is a "Central Teleportation Hub", which is responsible for the main bulk of processing required for the sequence of matter disassembly and reintegration. It runs a permanent uplink to the GPS Network to coordinate transport, and also stores the pattern of the teleported object in its memory buffer as a reference for reintegration.

"And the reintegration, by and large, is the responsibility of a smaller variant of the CTH we've named the "Personal Teleportation Unit", or PTU. The PTU rides along with whatever is being transported, and stores the primary pattern. In a sense, the buffer of the CTH is simply a backup; It is the PTU that puts the phased object back together again.

The projection had phased out to a black and white representation of the world, complete with icons indicating the orbiting GPS Satellites, the object in transit, and the Teleportation Hub. It started up a new sequence, but waited until Light went on before picking up the pace. Light smiled as he continued to speak. This wouldn't be like any presentation they'd ever seen before.

"The entire process looks a little something like this." The image of the metallic block reappeared again. "The PTU signals that the object is ready for transport; The PTU, once online, is constantly scanning the object for any changes in composition, but it takes several seconds for the PTU to connect to the CTH and pass along a copy of the object's framework. Once the CTH has received the backup of the object's structure in its buffer, it sends a queue to the GPS Network and readies the transfer."

The "Transport pad" underneath the metal block lit up in the simulation. "As of right now, warp transport still requires a significant amount of energy, about one-fourth as much as can be yielded from the tri-generator assembly aboard SKYLIGHT. To facilitate this, static access points, much like the transport pads of science fiction, are required. These pads erect an EM field on a higher energy level around the object during molecular disintegration which gives it the necessary power to travel; this field has the added benefit of preventing mass or energy from escaping during transit, counteracting the natural dispersive effect. Only a part of whatever is being sent is transformed fully to energy; several "Key" molecular strands are kept in place throughout the object, acting as a latticework which the PTU uses to rebuild the outgoing package upon arrival. The rest of the matter and energy stream is kept as loose molecules, which gives the outbound object a distinct signature, untraceable by hard-object seeking radars, but detectable by spectrographic means. It's something akin to a matter and energy sludge, a mesh between the two."

The block on the display dispersed and formed into a beam roughly half the diameter of the original object, glowing brightly. It shot up into the sky, and the view pulled back away to the global perspective again.

"During transit, the object takes a parabolic trajectory from Point A to B, hurtling through the sky and upper atmosphere. This is done for two reasons: It allows the GPS Network to keep in contact with the matter stream and make any necessary course corrections, and also because there were strong indications from our simulations that the beam might lose cohesion if it took the shortest route available, that is, straight through the earth's crust, mantle, and core. While the beam is effectively inviolate, there was a chance from our tests that sections of the outbound traveler might be deflected away despite the EM field if sent through more dense surroundings. The effect isn't unknown; it's very similar to Rutherford's Alpha Particle experiments two centuries before. Upon arrival, the transmitted object innately wishes to return to its lower energy state, which also assists in the reassembly. It _wants_ to be put back together."

The beam of warped energy skimmed the upper atmosphere of the earth, tracking out from the outskirts of London…and then bounced back down towards it. That caused a rumble of confusion, and Light couldn't help but laugh.

"Relax. There's nothing wrong with the presentation. In this image, you're watching an object being sent from one section of London to another. This is one of the most feasible methods of transport; short distances. There is one thing you do need to know, however." He gripped the sides of the podium and leaned forward, grinning in triumph. "What you just watched wasn't a simulation. It's happening in real time."

A second image appeared beside the first, splitting the screen. The new picture showed Dr. Wily, and the location trace said it all.

**LightTech Regional HQ, London.**

The gray-haired scientist winked to the screen. "I see you let them in on our little surprise, Tom." He paused and scanned the crowd through a camera connected to their interlink. "Hey, folks. That object was a cube of pig iron we transmitted out from our factory here. And according to my calculations, it should be there in...four seconds."

Everyone waited with baited breath as those few seconds passed by. The transfer happened so rapidly that those who blinked missed it.

The beam of gray warplight shot down clean through the roof of the building and crashed above the stage not more than five feet from Dr. Light. In less time than those watching could gasp, the beam expanded out into a dense sphere of light before dissipating a few tenths of a second after. A _bwink_ sound rushed out along with the displaced air, and the object reappeared at the center of the storm.

A cube of raw iron, adorned with a dense, fist-sized device, hovered in the air for a second before gravity took hold. It clattered to the ground, coming to a stop after its journey. There was silence for a long moment as Light and Wily, still smiling, watched the audience.

"And that's warp technology." Light concluded.

The applause was deafening.

* * *

The glow of digital camera strobes nearly blinded Light as he pushed through the crowd of wellwishers and reporters, making his way to the car waiting for him outside of the Symposium.

When he finally made it into the back seat and shut the door, Wily was inside, waiting for him. The car pulled off, and the two looked at each other.

Wily cracked a smile first. "Well, that was the showstopper of the Symposium, wasn't it?"

"We just made science fiction a scientific reality." Light chortled. The programmer and robotologist leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Al."

_"Jawohl." _Wily handed over a bottle of water. "Word got out quickly over our success. LightTech's stock just went up three and a half points on the market."

"Good lord, already?" Light popped the cap and took a quick swig. "The last time we had a jump that large was when we announced the Core Module."

"Well, we have a habit of making the impossible happen." Wily mused. "Of course, we haven't finished the rest of our tests yet. We know we can transmit simple objects over small distances, but there's still long-range transfer tests to be run, as well as…"

"Yeah." Light agreed. "Whether or not we can transport complex items, like machines, or robots…or humans."

"One step at a time, Tom." Wily reassured his friend. "It's what I used to say to my team back at the Institute all the time."

"Mm." Light looked out the window, at peace with the universe. "I still hold to Director Simdorn's philosophy."

"Change the world?" Wily mused. "We tried that, remember? The world kicked us in the ass. Now we're in it to make shitloads of money…of course, I have a hard time staying with that philosophy when you keep making our inventions Freeware."

"Now, now." Light comforted his friend. "We have to prove we can make it work first. And don't worry. Nobody else is going to crack this before we do. It's only been 2 years since the general public knew that we were _thinking_ about tinkering with this stuff, and this is a decades' worth of work besides. Even though I explained the process, I purposefully left out the number crunching and all the important data. A blueprint without a scale does the competition little good before we'll get this to market."

"And the better part about all this is," Wily added, popping open his own water bottle, "There's nobody outside of the company who knows jack squat about how this works."

"You've got to love those confidentiality agreements." Light agreed, lifting his bottle in a toast.

Wily tapped their bottles together and took a well deserved swig. "Here's to a couple of old bastards showing the world what the right stuff takes."

"Yeah." Light exhaled. "This isn't the world we dreamed of, but we have to keep trying. Nothing changes without action."

* * *

_Castle Cossack_

_500 km NNE of Perm, Siberia (Russia)_

_October 24__th__, 2069 C.E._

_7:45 P.M._

Kalinka had spent most of the day running around the old and drafty castle, giggling and keeping the "Babysitting" robot that Sergei had designed when she was an infant running in a constant state of dread, concern, and the flare of the First Law. At around two and a half years old, she was the most energetic and bubbly child that her father could ever remember seeing.

And after all that, Sergei told himself with a smile, she would collapse in her bed after a hug from her father and slip into the land of dreams, her blond locks streaming around her cherubic face.

Mikhail Sergeyivich Cossack, or as he preferred to be called nowadays, just Sergei, stroked his daughter's hair away from her eyes and kissed her softly on the forehead. The girl barely stirred, and he tucked her blankets around her, keeping out the cold. The old castle, a Cossack stronghold of centuries past, had been renovated when he had moved his family in. Now it had resplendent and colorful spires that looked more like they belonged in Moscow than the wilderness of the Steppe. Kalinka's room was kept in one of the corner towers, her own space that she could grow into. The only downside was that old castles weren't exactly energy efficient when it came to heating, and winters came early.

The castle was as cold as his life, ever since he had lost Natalya to illness. Kalinka was the only bright spot of his existence left, it seemed.

Sergei smiled and slowly eased back from her bedside. He headed out the door and nodded politely to the Nurturing And Nursing Intelligence, or NANI robot keeping watch. "Kalinka's asleep now. She wasn't too much trouble today, I hope?"

The roughly four foot tall robot on grooved treads, whose facial features were locked in a neutral pose, shook its head left and right. _"No more than usual."_ The robot declared tonelessly. _"We spent some time today playing the game "hide and seek"; I will have to define some new boundaries for the game. I found her hiding in an old fireplace in the main hall."_

Sergei chuckled. "She's got a lot of spirit, doesn't she?"

_"If…that is the human term for it." _The NANI-bot concluded. Sergei had personally reprogrammed the robot after it had arrived, and was glad that he did so. It had a specific operating lifespan of four years, which meant Kalinka would be 5 when her robotic caretaker shut down. By then, Sergei reasoned, she would be old enough that she would not need it.

_"Oh, Doctor Cossack, you received a call while you were saying goodnight to Mistress Kalinka."_ The robot announced. _"Trenton Corbun of Sennet Robotics."_

"Again?" Sergei blinked. He pulled his glasses from his face and rubbed at his eyes, ending with a sweep through his bushy red hair. It was beginning to darken and turn brown in his middle age. "I just gave him the status report two days ago. Ah well. I will take the call."

_"Very well, Doctor." _The NANI-bot said. _"Request permission to access my recharge station for stasis?"_

"Yes, yes. It's been a full day. Good night, Nanny."

_"Good night, sir."_

The NANI-bot turned about and wheeled off to a smaller room set aside for its maintenance, and Cossack went a different direction, back downstairs to the castle's interior proper. There was work to do.

In what had once been the bulk of the castle's dungeon and cellar, an engineering team from Sennet had reinforced the stonework and put in electrical and communications conduits. Powered by solar and wind energy, heated by geothermal vents, his robotic workshop was kept out of public view, yet served as the focal point of his home. From here, he could tinker with whatever he needed to, talk to whomever on the planet he had to for his job, and run Sennet's global Research and Development sections with a master craftsman's keen eye.

He pulled his favorite chair out and took a seat in front of a powerful multisystem control center, with more buttons, keypads, screens and controls than he would likely ever need in his lifetime. Still, it did come with some perks.

With the touch of a button, he opened up a transmission line from his communications array stationed atop the stoneworks, and bounced a signal from the global communications satellite network all the way to Sao Paulo, Brazil. Once the line was declared secure by the console's mechanical voice, the wizened figure of Trenton Corbun appeared on the center flatscreen.

Cossack blinked. The man didn't look happy.

"Whatever it is, Trenton, I promise you I didn't blow it up."

"You're not in trouble, Sergei." Trenton answered, typing some commands onto a keyboard on his end. "Our company is, though. Dr. Light and Wily just dropped a bombshell at the Applied Sciences Symposium in London."

Sergei raised an eyebrow. "Their Advanced Robots project?"

"Heh, I wish. That, we might be able to keep up with." Trenton laughed weakly. "Here, I'm sending you a news batch."

An incoming attachment caught Sergei's attention, and after a quick virus check, he opened it up, sending the feed to one of the secondary screens slightly to his right.

Between the headlines, the stock index, and a video feed he kept on mute, Sergei quickly identified the source of his superior's consternation. He glanced back after a few moments of relaxed breathing, and asked the question he was sure many other people had repeated since this went public. "Is this for real?"

"Real as you or me." Corbun said gravely. "LightTech's cracked the impossible tech project…teleportation. They went on in the Symposium to mention that they're still in the middle of testing, but that hardly matters. The genie's out of the bottle, and they're the ones holding all the wishes."

"I didn't think that we had advanced enough to make transporters real." Cossack said. He paused after saying it, surprised at how calm he sounded under the circumstances. He was excited beyond belief on the inside, as he was sure many of his colleagues were. "The processing requirements alone…But I suppose, if anybody could make it work, those two could."

"Yeah." Corbun exhaled. "This I know from experience. They put their minds to something, it happens."

"All right. So what do you want me to do about it?" Dr. Cossack demanded. "We have no base to start at. This is one project, I'm afraid, that we'll have to forego until they go public with the specifics."

"Oh, I'm well aware we can't duplicate their triumph." Corbun stroked his chin. "But we can take advantage of it. I want you to lean on our Beijing operation; get them to step up the production of their "Pipi" mechanoids. Also, I want you to run some feasibility routines on equipping them with explosives."

Cossack blinked. "What? You mean those red metallic birds that drop microcamera search drones?"

"Yes, that's the one. If LightTech can make warp transport fully functional, it'll mean the advent of a new age in warfare. We've already had interest expressed from several governments in obtaining the Pipi robots for search and precision strikes. Warp technology could help them to re-equip on the fly, increasing their operational airtime."

"Now, just hold on a second here." Cossack interrupted him, beginning to sound irritated. "We stand at the advent of an age where we might be able to step onto a pad and be transported around the world in the blink of an eye, where we can send food and medical supplies directly to the site of any natural disaster, and your first thought is how it will help us _make war?"_

"Sergei, everybody loves to talk about saving the world and doing little things to make a difference." Corbun reassured him. "But when push comes to shove, they'll spend money on things that blow stuff up. Fact of life. Sennet still has a minority share of the robotics industry, and I'd like to stay up on our feet for a while longer. That means making what will sell, and what sells is things with military applications." Corbun leaned closer to his camera, and gave the no-nonsense stare. "Got it?"

Sergei bit his tongue and glanced away. "I got it, boss." He muttered. "It will be taken care of."

"Good, good." Corbun reverted to all smiles again. "That's what I like to hear, my top guy on top of things. How's your daughter doing these days?"

"She's fine." Cossack answered curtly. He gave the screen a dull expression. "If there is nothing else, sir, I have some work to do."

"Right. Make us some money, Sergei." Trenton waved. "You always do."

The connection cut off, and Cossack finally allowed himself a few well timed invectives in his native tongue. There were times he really hated having to work for a man who valued profits over personal responsibility. Light and Wily were doing what they always excelled at doing, what had made Sergei want to be a robotics engineer; they were making miracles. Sergei was relegated to producing robots that lined a soulless company's pockets.

It was getting harder to convince himself that his efforts were worthwhile.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_October 25__th__, 2069 C.E._

_9:42 A.M._

**Dinggg-dong.**

Eddie had been guiding the low-riding vacuum cleaner around the living room when the front door's buzzer went off. He guided his left foot to the power switch and toggled it off, then glanced towards the door. The Fliptop unit considered moving to answer it, but another voice echoing in caught his attention.

"I've got it, Eddie!" Said Blues. The considerably larger humanoid robot moved out of the kitchen and headed for the door, wearing both his sunglasses and the original prototype shield slung over his back. The matter seen to, Eddie restarted the riding vacuum and continued on his track.

Blues opened the front door a crack and peered out. A surprised looking man of Dr. Light's age, or maybe even a touch older, by the lines on his face, stared back at him. He was Caucasian, but he dressed in Japanese fashion. Blues kept his language filter set to English.

"Yes, can I help you?"

The man blinked twice. "Isn't this Dr. Light's residence?"

"The last time I checked." Blues opened the door a little wider and crossed his arms, acting as its guardian. "What do you want, exactly?"

The ageworn visitor tried to size up the young, defiant boy. Something about him didn't quite click, but he couldn't place it. "I came to visit Dr. Light. Who _are you?"_ The visitor finally broke the hovering question. "I didn't think that Light had any children. Or grandchildren."

"I'm Blues. And you're partly wrong. Dr. Light is my father."

"How, exactly?" The man demanded.

Blues kept his expression blank. "He created me."

The color drained from the visitor's face. "Oh my God. You're a…a…"

"A robot." Blues almost snapped. "And you would be Darwin Vinkus, Japan's representative to the United Nations. I remember your face from the news. Dad talks about you sometimes, how you all used to work together."

Vinkus hesitantly reached a hand out. He poked Blues in the arm, and Blues tilted his head slightly as he followed the motion. When Vinkus prodded him a second time, the Advanced robot prototype spoke up again.

"You know, if I were a real boy, this would be referred to as a bad touch."

Vinkus snapped his hand back. "I'm so…wait, what am I doing apologizing to you?"

"I don't know, maybe you're feeling charitable." Blues tilted his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose and stared across the rims. "What do you want here, anyhow?"

"Well, I came to talk with Light and Wily about their newest breakthrough."

"Is that so." The blue irises staring at Vinkus unnerved the veteran politician. "Well, they're not here right now."

"Oh, then perhaps I can come in, write down a message for them." Vinkus started to move forward, but Blues held out a hand and stopped him cold. The robot slid his sunglasses back on and shook his head. Vinkus glared at him. "Let me through. That's an order."

"I don't think so." Blues remarked flippantly. "I'll let them know you dropped by, though. Anything else you'd care to add to the message? I do have a photographic digital memory, after all."

"I gave you an order, robot." Vinkus snapped.

Blues tightened his lips. "Yeah, and I have orders that supersede yours from my Creators. Nobody gets in the house while they're gone. Sorry, Second Law Precedent with a twist of Light."

"Fine, then." Vinkus let out an exasperated sigh. "Tell Light congratulations."

"What, for pulling off warp transport?"

"No, for winning the Nobel Prize in Physics." Vinkus snorted. "The Committee that oversees the selections came to their final decision today. He won it."

"Huh." Blues dipped his head slightly. "I'll pass that along."

"I thought they would be back by now, maybe using that teleporter of theirs to manage a quick trip." Vinkus added.

"Afraid not."

"Well, can you tell me when exactly they might arrive back home? Or is that privileged information as well?"

Blues smirked. "Give 'em two more days. No sense catching them while they're jet-lagged."

Vinkus took a step back and made one grand sweep of the house with a scrutinizing gaze. "Very well, then. I'll take my leave and return then." He turned without a farewell and strolled down the forest path that led to the train station.

Blues shook his head and closed the door. "And I thought Wily complained." He glanced over his shoulder, noticing Eddie standing nearby. "I thought you were vacuuming."

Eddie replied in chittery binary. _**I completed the room. Did Dr. Light and Dr. Wily really give you an order not to let anybody in?**_

"No, they didn't." Blues headed in to the kitchen, where he had been cleaning out the spice rack. "But it was the only way to get him to shove off."

_**So not only are you able to break the Second Law, you can lie as well?**_

Blues shrugged and picked up his washcloth before climbing a stepladder he'd set against the kitchen counter. He reached into the empty spice cabinet and kept wiping it out. "Seems that way. I could spend forever worrying about it, Eddie, or I can move on. There's a lot wrong with me, and I know it. Besides whatever's messing up my head, my power generator's going to flake out on me." He paused and looked back to Eddie, who tottered into the kitchen dutifully. "That means that someday, I'm going to die."

_**Did our Creators tell you that?**_

Blues pulled the washcloth out and threw it into the sink. "You really think I need them to tell me what's going on inside my own body? I figured it out on my own. They'd have to know about it by now, though. The way things are going, I've got _maybe_ three to four years before my power generator can't keep up."

_**They might be able to fix you.**_

"Yeah?" Blues countered. He reached for the scattered spices along the counter and started putting them back in order. "Maybe I don't want them to."

_**You refer to Dr. Light as your father. Why shouldn't he take care of you?**_

"Because there's something different about me." Blues answered steadily. "It's what allows me to break the Second Law. It lets me look at things…differently than you do. And I _like_ that. If they tried to repair the power glitch, they might erase everything about me. Maybe by accident. Maybe on purpose, just to try and fix whatever mistake made me the way I am."

Blues closed the door of the spice cabinet and turned around, giving Eddie an expression of contentment. "But you probably don't understand any of this." The Fliptop blinked back at him. Blues smiled. "You've got it easy, Eddie. You don't have to think about things as much."

Eddie offered no further comment on the matter.

* * *

One day later, Light and Wily returned to the house in the Treeborg Preserve. The two old men dropped their bags by the door and wandered inside, sighing as the air conditioning washed over them.

"These round the world trips are a pain in the ass." Wily grumbled, slumping into his favorite recliner and tilting the headrest back.

Light wandered into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. His voice carried back out. "Well, that's a process we should be making fundamentally easier very soon." The refrigerator door closed, and he walked back out with two bottles of beer. "Here you go."

Al took the offered drink and popped it open on the armrest of his chair with a flick of his fist. "All optimism aside, once we start talking about sending lifeforms, we're also killing them. What ends up on the other side is just a copy."

"Says you." Light taunted him. "I think our process avoids any nasty entanglements with the Uncertainty Principle. It's why we spent the entire decade working on the numbers, right?"

He sat down in his own easy chair and opened his own drink. "No, we've got everything we need. Our live small-scale test was a huge success, so now all we have to do is crank it up and see if we can deliver on what we promised."

Blues strolled into the room, whistling his trademark four tone, five note introduction. Shield over his back and sunglasses on his head, the robot smiled. "Hey, there they are. Back again…and drinking already, I see."

"Long trip." Wily grunted, taking another swig of alcohol. "Lousy stewardesses. You think they'd be nicer to a pair of old men."

"Not when you ask them if they're a natural blonde." Light retorted. The robotologist smiled. "Hey, Blues. Did you get the equipment set up like we wanted?"

"Yeah, Hakumo brought over the gear from R&D 1. I've got it set up and waiting in the lab, and the results of your London escapade's been added into the house server for analysis."

"Good, good." Light eased his feet up and sighed. "Ugh. Anything interesting happen while we were gone?"

"An old associate of yours dropped by for a visit while you were gone. He wanted to talk to you about the teleporter technology."

"Oh? Who?" Wily dipped his chin for a better view.

Blues folded his arms. "Darwin Vinkus. I didn't invite him in."

Wily's face darkened at the name, and even Light sobered up. "That was probably wise of you." Light complimented the robot. "We…don't exactly get along. He was one of the more vocal members in the Anti-Tech faction before the Second Rainbow fell apart."

"Only because it suited his interests." Wily added. "He's a politician, Tom. If it made him look good, he'd sell us all down the river."

"Sell you down the river?" Blues lifted his eyebrow high enough that it crested above his sunglasses. "Is that another colloquialism?"

"Yeah, it means he'd…never mind." Wily changed topics. "So, did he want to complain about our newest announcement? Call it dangerous technology?"

"No, I don't think so." Blues said, after introspection. "At least, he didn't bother with it after he found out I was a robot. I seemed to disturb him."

"Well, you tend to be a disturbing sort of robot." Light heckled him. "For those who don't know you."

Blues stood for a while longer, then started again. "Oh, one more thing. He also said to tell you congratulations."

"Congratulations?" Light chortled. "For making teleportation a reality?"

Blues shook his head and reached behind him, pulling out an old fashioned envelope he'd stowed in the curve of his shield. "No, for this."

Light took the envelope from the robot and gave the return address a cursory glance. His eyes widened, and he looked at Wily. "It's from the Nobel Committee."

Wily blinked. "Weren't you nominated for an award a while back?"

Light tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter. He scanned the contents quickly, paused, reread it, and then broke out into a wide smile.

He handed the letter over to Wily. The mad scientist spent less time examining it before he handed it back, shaking his head. "I'll be damned. Tom, you just won the Nobel Prize in physics."

"I guess I did." Light set his beer aside and set his head in his hands. "Sweet buttery Jesus, how did that happen? So what are you going to do with your half of the prize money?"

"My half?" Wily asked jokingly. "It's your award."

"Which I won because of our robots." Light reminded his friend. "We're a team, you and me. We're in this together, and you deserve to share in the success no matter what."

The touching moment made Wily very quiet for a moment, but when he accepted the compliment, it was with respect.

"I'll keep that in mind when I win the next one."

Then he winked.

* * *

_Tokyo, Japan_

_October 26__th__, 2069 C.E._

_10:17 A.M._

Darwin Vinkus was already tidying up his desk when the intercom that tied to his secretary went off. That was the nice thing about having an office in the central government building; he had somebody else to help him watch his schedule.

_"Sir, you have a call on line two, and there are two gen…"_

"Take a message." Vinkus directed her, not even looking at the desk to desk vox. "I've already made plans to go to the Shugoya Preserve this morning. I'm meeting with Dr. Light and Dr. Wily."

The door to his office opened, and Vinkus was about to shout and remind his secretary he didn't want her opening his door when he saw who had opened it.

"Oh, I'm thinking you don't have to bother getting on the train today." Dr. Wily said. He and Dr. Light stood in the doorway, dressed in respective black and brown coats with matching fedoras.

"After all, we're already here." Light finished.

Vinkus slowly stood up from his desk. "Yes, so you are." He gestured towards them. "Come in, come in. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"Coffee." Light grunted, landing in a stuffed armchair set off against the wall.

"Black." Said Wily, occupying the second chair of the matched set. Vinkus keyed in his intercom and ordered two mugs of coffee from his secretary before turning to his visitors again. Wily picked back up without missing a beat. "Now what did you want to talk to us about two days ago? You haven't said two words to us since Titus's funeral, and now you're barging into our business?"

Vinkus was unruffled from the cutting remark. "I wanted to talk to you about these warp teleportation experiments of yours."

"You and every other technology firm that's salivating for a piece of the pie." Light sighed.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you to make sure that you'd made the necessary legal preparations." Vinkus reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Waiting for you two to get back gave me some time to make some arrangements. I thought for sure you two would teleport yourselves back home after the conference."

Light and Wily looked at each other, and Wily opted to shrug and speak. "We're not done running all our final tests yet. So far, we haven't sent anything more complicated than inorganic material…well, except for that apple Tom wanted once."

"I was hungry." The robotologist said defensively. "So what kind of arrangements are you talking about? An injunction or something?"

"Quite the opposite."

Vinkus's secretary walked into his office with a pair of full coffee mugs and handed them to the guests. Vinkus gave her the document he had pulled out, and she delivered it to Light before bowing and exiting the room, shutting the door after her.

Light took a sip from his mug as he scanned the page. "This is a permit."

"And then some." Vinkus added, sitting on the edge of the coffee table a few feet from the armchairs. He folded his hands together and smirked at them. "Given your peculiar history of explosive and incendiary outcomes in your work…"

"Hey now." Wily protested. "Not everything we make explodes."

Vinkus held up his hand and started counting down fingers. "There was the time you tried to improve server efficiency and blew out the entire substation for the SRHQ…"

"Hey, that wasn't our fault." Said Light. "It would have worked if Beskin hadn't spilled his Tea all over the Slave banks."

"And then there was the infamous Cedar Treeborg incident involving a wood chipper…"

"In our defense, those morons should have known to stop when sparks started grinding out of it." Wily muttered sullenly.

"Or how about the time you two blew a hole in the side of your house getting the plasma weapons technology into a workable state?"

"All right, enough already." Light rolled his eyes. "We get it. So, what exactly is this permit for?"

"Sanctioned permission from the Mayor of Tokyo to run any and all experiments necessary in your warp experiment endeavors, with the stipulation that you will pay to replace any Treeborgs which might be destroyed in the process. Also, you assure the city that they will not be liable for any mishaps, and that injuries resulting to bystanders will be paid in full by you. In exchange, you will not be subject to removal from your neighborhood or lawsuits resulting from…unexpected results."

"As if we had any bystanders out there." Wily said. "There's a reason we moved out into the middle of nowhere, right?"

"It's a very airtight document though." Light set the paper aside. "You always did know how to cross the T's. But why would you do all of this?" He asked. "It's no secret that we don't exactly see eye to eye on things."

"When it comes to robots, yes." Vinkus agreed. "I met Blues…to say I was surprised would be an understatement. You finally went ahead and made a human robot. That doesn't affect this project of yours, though it could be argued that many of the risks are the same."

"You're talking about weaponizing teleporters." Wily finished his coffee off in one long draw. "We've heard the rumblings in the tech industry. Wilcox is shitting bricks for not thinking of it first. As it stands, people are scheming for what can be delivered…not the delivery method."

"Given the anti-war stance you two are known for, I'd bet good money that you have some way to keep it from being used as a weapon." Vinkus set his hands on his knees. "Something that a work associate won't leak to a competitor." He mused. "And that's the real trick."

Light looked away, knowing full well the barb inside of the comment. Years later, he and Wily still hadn't forgotten the man who'd handed plasma weapons technology to U.S. Robotics, like a twisted Prometheus. Wily showed more determination than his counterpart, and he matched Darwin's stare.

"Corbun was a long time ago. And yes, we've got an idea on how to prevent it from being used for wartime purposes. A lockout program, which would prevent transfers of weapons and explosives that we'd have in the final product."

"Good." The Representative for Japan did look more relieved when Wily explained the precaution. "I want you two to succeed. If you can make it work, warp teleportation could be the solution to so many of our problems; dwindling nonrenewable resources, rapid transit, on-site emergency crisis support. But I also want you two to be safe."

Vinkus got up from the coffee table, and pointedly handed the permit to Wily. "We may not ever be friends again, but we spent close to two decades putting this world back on its feet. I can't dismiss all the good things that were accomplished from our joint efforts in the Rainbow, and I wouldn't want to. You asked me why I would do this, Tom? It's easy. I made a promise to someone once that I would look out for you."

"To help us, or just to watch us?" Wily posed.

Vinkus smiled and walked to his door, opening it to signal the meeting's end.

"Couldn't I do both?"

* * *

_November 2__nd__, 2069 C.E._

_6:15 A.M._

Blues wandered into the laboratory, a little surprised to see his creator sitting in front of the large flatscreen display situated around the central processing hub. He wasn't doing anything, though…Just sitting there. Drinking his coffee and watching a video feed.

Curiosity, a trait that Blues wondered if he'd adopted from Eddie, took hold. The Advanced robot prototype meandered behind Light, his soft metallic footfalls signaling his presence. The slight raise of Light's head was also a good indicator he'd been noticed.

"What are you looking at, dad?" Blues asked.

Light leaned his head partway over his shoulder and smiled. "Couldn't sleep, Blues?"

"Robots don't sleep." Blues reminded the old man, sidling up beside him. He lifted his sunglasses up into his black hair and stared at the screen more closely. "We don't dream, either. And you still haven't told me what I'm looking at."

Light sat up a little straighter and grunted. "I've been running a few new runs of the teleporter. Sent a few digital camera pods to some various locations around the world. Transfer time took about as long as I expected it to; the mass present in the EM warp beam slows travel speed to around Mach 6 or 7, depending." He pointed at the screen. "You're looking at the video feed we got off of our satellite uplink from one of those pods. It's late afternoon there."

Dampened by the synthskin around his face, Blues' mechanical optics whirred and zoomed in on the GPS location stamp in the corner of the display.

"That's like the middle of the United States. Indiana?" Blues dropped his sunglasses back down and gave Light a curious stare. "What's in Indiana?"

Dr. Thomas X. Light chuckled a bit and rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Nothing much now…just a few small towns, two big ones, and memories."

"I know about Indianapolis, but what's so interesting about this Rohannesville?" Blues pestered him.

Light held his coffee cup just below his lips. "I was born there."

The revelation made Blues look back at the screen again. The camera pod Light had transported away was making a slow, panoramic sweep of its surroundings.

Light sighed. "The place has changed some. Not that it had a lot going for it when I left it behind for greener pastures…but it's just not a place I see ever being the same. Not after the Wars."

"I thought you and the Second Rainbow cleaned everything up."

"We tried. We got a fair deal done. But there are places in this world, Blues…" Light gestured to the television, which showed vast tracts of sporadic grasslands and dull sunbaked ground, "…That won't be habitable for a very long time."

Blues thought for a moment. "So…If Rohannesville doesn't exist anymore, why send a camera there? Your heart rate's decreased, so is your core temperature. It's making you sad; causing harm. Why would you put yourself through that?"

"It's a human thing, I guess." Said Light. The old man set his coffee cup aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows below the keyboard and sitting his chin on his hands. "Everyone I knew…my entire life, before the Wars, is nothing but dust and abandoned graves. My parents, my neighbors, my friends. The only place they still have any significance, any mark on the world that was, is in my memories. If I don't remember them, Blues…who will?"

The old man's eyes misted up. "Who will remember me?"

The laboratory was quiet for a few moments. Light felt Blues' hand, cool to the touch, come to rest on his shoulder. He turned and looked back, and there was Blues, looking calmer than usual.

"Tell me about them." The robot urged him.

"My parents?"

"Everyone." Blues clarified. "Your friends, your parents, the fiancée you never talk about."

Light bit his lip, sniffing a bit. "Why?"

Blues gave his shoulder a small squeeze before he pulled his arm back. "So I can remember."

On a quiet Saturday morning in November, an old man told a young boy a story of a world in an age of Sleep.

And they remembered.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_November 28__th__, 2069 C.E._

_1:48 P.M._

It had been a month well spent. The intercession of Representative Vinkus and his sizable political clout had caused law enforcement to shoo and usher the news crews far away from their work.

Of course, the "Rotten Fruit" subroutine that Blues had programmed Eddie with had also done a fair deal for clearing away the bothersome lot.

There had been a lot of groundwork left to cover, but like true scientists, Light and Wily had approached it methodically, step by step, documenting and recording each day's work. Light's camera pods at the beginning of the month had set a precedent and confirmed what the two readily believed; complex inorganic objects were viable transport subjects. From there, they'd scaled it up to larger masses: By mid-November, they were routinely beaming blocks of ore the size of chairs, and eventually tables to London and back. For grins, even, they'd sent a television playing a movie through. It had arrived on the other end, with only a momentary flicker of the image for its trouble before it droned on.

By the 20th, they had reached the crucial point: Teleportation of active mechanoids. They needn't have worried. Metools, KIF units, anything that had the appropriate PTU arrived on the other end without flaws or glitches. There was only a few more tests to run before they'd be ready for the final sequence of the test warps; Organic matter, and something that Wily had been exhorting; a dual-purpose PTU that would make teleporter pads just a clunky forerunner.

Now, on the 28th, it was the point of no return.

* * *

The last few experiments being the most important and sensitive, Light and Wily had converted a large corner of the laboratory. The space around the "Warp Center" had been cleared, and a transparisteel security closet built surrounding the transit space. It had been a precaution that Light had insisted on, wanting absolutely zero risk of there being a "Human Fly" disaster. It locked prior to scanning and transport, and was programmed to open only after the sequence shut down. Even Wily admitted it wasn't a terrible idea, after a mosquito had drifted in and landed on the handle of the door.

Blues, of course, had justified his agreement to the measure on the basis of the First Law.

"Okay, I think we're set to go." Wily poked his head out of the warp center's open doorway and gave Dr. Light a thumbs up. "I've got the items for the test sequence all lined up, all except for…"

Blues stepped into the laboratory, his usual sunglasses and shield combination in place. A long scrap of yellow cloth around his neck caught Dr. Light's eye. "Afternoon, doctors." He greeted them. "Sorry I'm late. Eddie needed some recalibration work done."

"No problem, Blues." Dr. Light pointed to his new accessory. "What's with the yellow scarf? Or is that a bandana?"

Blues fingered the edge of it. "It's a scarf, actually…though a bandana might work, too. I found it after we scared off the latest batch of reporters."

Wily rolled his eyes, but kept another snarky comment from passing by his lips. He settled for an exasperated sigh and a change in topic. "Go ahead and suit up, Blues."

The Advanced robot walked over to a row of lockers and opened up the last one. Inside was his red and gray bodysuit, taken from the same runaway experiments that had netted him his lucky charm. It took him some doing, but the robot managed to slip into the protective suit. He rejoined Wily outside of the warp center's central security box and nodded his head. "I'm ready."

"Good. Good." Wily stepped out of the box and pointed to Light. "Let's check the box safeties again, Tom."

Dr. Light triggered a command on his console, and the door shut automatically, sounding a loud click.

**"Safety lock engaged. Beginning scan."** The female voice of the computer announced. It sounded slightly familiar to Blues. He looked at Wily, who gave a shrug.

"I liked her voice." The 'mad scientist' chortled. "So sue me."

**"Preliminary scan complete." **The computer went on. **"The transport pad is clear. No foreign elements detected in security zone. Disengaging safety lock."**

The door clicked back open, and Light winked to Wily. "That's up and running. Should I start the recording equipment?"

"Right, go on ahead." Wily waited for a brief span as the cameras and microphones around started up, and then began speaking in a clearer, more professional tone. "November 28th, 2069. Early afternoon. This test sequence of our matter teleportation system will be the first to transmit organic matter in the form of potted plants and several laboratory mice. The sequence will begin with an inorganic control, as in prior tests, and there will be several control objects sent through between our "Living" transport specimens to determine any inconsistencies in the equipment as a result. All the mice have been equipped with miniaturized biometric sensors transmitting their respiratory and neurological functions to our server here in the laboratory. A similar setup will record their vitals upon arrival at our London operational headquarters, which has been the second testing site throughout our experiments. We anticipate no problems, but in the realm of theoretical applied sciences, complications do have a way of making appearances. The last phase of the test will be done with the assistance of our Advanced robot prototype, "Protoman". Protoman, or Blues as we usually call him, has been equipped with a modified warp generator. This next generation PTU has been designed to render the transport pad, which has been a necessary component for the creation of the warp EM field, unnecessary. Once we have finished the test sequence, we will then attempt to send Blues to London using his prototype warp generator. Should any difficulties arise, the transport pad has been programmed to complete the transfer so he is not lost."

"How reassuring." Blues complained.

Light looked over to Wily. "Go ahead and load up the control."

Wily reached into his pocket and dug out a small tablet. He smirked at Dr. Light when he set it on the teleporter pad. A push of the button made his mirth clear; it began to blare the introduction to "The Macarena." It kept going even after Wily stepped clear of the security box and the door closed, rattling the plasteel walls.

"I think they'll get a kick out of that, don't you?" Wily guffawed.

"You are a sick bastard to torture them with that relic." Light grinned.

"Hey, you're the one who's into music in a big way. I'm just getting into the spirit."

One of the viewscreens at Light's workstation flickered on, and the LightTech London branch's R&D Labs appeared. The head technician on call waved.

_"We're all set here, Doctor Light."_

"Good, Reg. Tell the boys on call thanks for coming in so early."

_"Already did. Gave 'em some sausages and mash to start 'em up for the day."_

"Good man." Light winked. "Now remember, we're looking at a travel time of about one and a half hours, give or take." Light told him. "We'll send every object through in sequence at three minute intervals without waiting for confirmation. Elsewise, we'd be here all day, and you wouldn't get anything else done."

Reginald gave him the OK sign. _"We'll be waiting. Recording monitors are up and running, and so's the medical gear."_

"And if you don't like the first package…well, go ahead and blame Albert." Light activated the warp processors, and the musical tablet vanished in a blurry beam of silvery particles, taking the music with it.

The security door opened a moment later. **"Transfer successful."** The computer intoned.

Wily walked next to Light and leaned against his friend's shoulder. "You know what still amazes me? That thing's going to pop out of warp, and it'll pick up on that song right where it left off, like no time had passed at all."

"Chronometric stasis." Light bobbed his head. "If you could find a way around the energy dissipation quotient, you might even be able to 'freeze' an entire area, instead of warping a traveler. Preserve a room as you left it."

"Hell, you could freeze time if you wanted." Wily went on excitedly. "Or maybe even go through time!"

"Easy, Albert." Light warned him. "I don't think that time travel is within our grasp. It's an impossibility for where we're at, technologically. Scientists can't even send _information_ through time, much less people."

Wily pointed to the warp assembly. "They said this was impossible, too."

Light sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "All right, all right. Go ahead and set up the first organic specimen."

"_**Jawohl**_, McDoubtypants." Wily snorted. From a table set up with the rest of the experiment's samples, the wild-haired scientist grabbed a small potted shrub. Blues held a hand out as Wily passed.

"Do you need a hand with that, Doc…"

"I can handle it, Blues, thank you." Wily snapped at him.

Blues pulled his hand back. "Sorry I asked."

Wily walked into the security box and set the plant down on the pad. He retreated away and the system went through its checks. Blues gave it a long pause before he spoke. "Can we send it now?"

"No, it hasn't been three minutes yet." Light told the robot.

Blues absorbed the answer, and waited a full ten seconds before speaking again. "Is it time now?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"NO." Light said, putting an edge in his voice.

"Can we do it now?" Blues asked, only a breath later.

**"NO!"** Light snapped, jerking his head around. "God, Blues, are you trying to piss me off?"

Blues smirked behind his sunglasses. "It worked, too."

The technician in London cracked up. _"Ah, blimey. I've got a little tyke at home, 'e does the same thing. That's some robot you've got there, Light. The tosser could probably fool most people into believing it's human."_

"God forbid." Wily checked his wristwatch. "Fifteen seconds to go, Tom."

"Roger."

"His name's Albert, Doctor Light."

"Blues?" Dr. Light said warningly.

"Right…I'll shut up." Blues waved a hand dismissively. "You know, you two old guys just aren't any fun."

"I'll write a memo to myself about it." Light punched the launch button. "Transmitting!"

The potted shrub vanished as quickly as the musical tablet had, but now Light scrutinized his monitors far more closely as the security door cycled back open.

Wily paused at the specimen table. "Any problems, Tom?"

Dr. Light watched his various readouts with hawkish intensity. He finally relaxed and nodded. "It looks good here. Scanners had no abnormalities on this end; the EM field kept stable."

"Promising. We'll know the rest when it gets there in two hours then." Wily picked up a deactivated Metool and headed for the teleporter pad. He set the robot down on it and activated the robot with a quick flick underneath the hardened underside of its helmet. The mechanoid stirred to life and opened its cartoonishly large optics, staring at the human. Wily pointed down with his finger. "Your order is to stay put. Understood?"

The Metool, reflexively following the Second Law, gave a nod of its head. Wily stepped out, and the system cycled through. The three minute window passed by with minimal relevant discussion, and soon the Metool was on its way as well.

"Another clean cycle." Light said, more relaxed than he had been at the start. "It doesn't look like there were any irregularities in the pattern buffer from the shrub. That's some good news."

"Yeah, but a plant's a relatively simple thing." Wily cut down on his friend's hasty prediction. He walked over and picked up a cage with five white laboratory mice, each tagged with a small and heavily modified RFID tag. "We'll see how these mice hold up through the loop."

_"You two are sending the animals through, eh?"_ Reginald said, cutting into the conversation. _"Gotta tell you, this is exciting stuff. Let me just make sure we've got the right receiving frequency for their biometrics quick."_

"Sending you our frequency now." Light tapped in a few keystrokes. "Be sure it matches up exactly. I want your equipment picking up readings as soon as it arrives. Even a few moments of unusual data could indicate a problem that we didn't foresee."

_"Yeah, righto."_

"Oh, sure. Now you're careful." Wily snorted. He walked inside and set the cage down on the transport pad, then moved for the door. At the same time, Light's hand moved across the controls when he turned his head to another screen.

The security door closed on Wily, and clicked shut. His eyes shot open, and he pounded on the door. "Tom!"

"Gah, Christ." Light winced.

**"Safety lock engaged. Beginning scan."**

"Yeah, yeah, shut up." Light tapped in a few buttons, and the door clicked open.

**"Foreign elements detected within the security chamber. Safety lock disengaged. Please clear the test area."**

"Glad to." Wily snapped, stepping clear of it. He glared at Dr. Light. "What in blazes was that?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. My hand grazed the close button."

"Yeah, and what would have happened if that thing went off when I wasn't equipped with a PTU, or a warp generator prototype?" Wily demanded. "I think I'd feel better about all this if we could automate the process. Last thing we want is an accident."

"What, you want the computer to run the process?" Light clarified.

Wily folded his arms. "At least a computer wouldn't accidentally send me." He walked over beside Light and crouched by a secondary keyboard. "Bring up the programming code for me, I'll write in the automatic subroutine."

Light got up and cleared out of his way. "You're sure you don't want me writing the code for that? I'm quicker at it."

"Tom, you may be the better programmer, but I've cut my teeth on a fair share of work as well. I can handle a stupid warp algorithm." Wily's eyes stayed glued to the screen as his fingers danced over the keys, inputting the code sequence that would make the warp process automated, and clear of human error.

"Well, all right then." Light walked over to the security booth and gave the mice another look. Unaware of the tiff in progress, the tiny creatures scurried around in their cage without a care. "You going to have that done in time for the next transfer?"

"No, no. I'm working on a side copy here, the main program's intact. We'll go ahead and send the mice through with the existing data…but neither of us should go inside that box again until I've got this algorithm figured out."

"Aren't you overreacting slightly?" Light asked. "I just mishit a button."

"Humans make silly mistakes." Wily explained, still hard at work. "Machines do what they're told." He looked pointedly at Blues, keeping the next line to himself. _**Most of them.**_

Light sighed and went back to his seat. "All right then. Move over, and I'll start up the next sequence. How's it coming on your end, Reg?"

_"We've got the inbounds on the tracking monitors. The GPS Network's handling like a dream, as usual. They're holding speed at a little above Mach 5 in the upper atmosphere, a little over China right now."_

"Good." Light kept a mental note of that. "Nice to know that warp transport speed's holding constant. Ready for the big one?"

_"Got the mice ready to go, I see. And what's this about reprogramming the code?"_

"Just Dr. Wily being overly cautious." Light reassured him. "It won't be altered for the next send. Just the last one." He paused for another moment to scan Wily's progress, then activated the warp center.

After several seconds of the transport pad's building hum, the cage full of laboratory mice vanished up and through the roof of their laboratory, bound to the same destination as the other specimens. Light's eyes went to the readouts coming from the EM field emitters, the scanners, and the matter converter. Unlike before, this time a red flag had gone up.

"Hello…what's this?" Light tapped at the screen, frowning as the project scanners displayed a report of minor irregularities.

Wily paused in his programming, pulling his fingers away from the keyboard. "What happened?" He demanded. "Did the transfer fail?"

"No, the transport's following the same route. But there was a minor blip in the energy spectrum at the moment of matter disassembly. An aspect that the scanners couldn't account for." Light explained, looking at the numbers. "Huh. Looks electrical."

"Is it a problem?"

"No…I don't think so." Light said, after a moment's thought. "If the irregularity had been large enough to merit concern, the transport pad would have cancelled the transport. It didn't, and everything else shows up in the green. I'm just at a loss to explain it, is all. Nothing else we've sent came up with this error. Maybe we just need to refine the EM field program."

"You know what it could be?" Wily suggested. "Maybe the natural electromagnetic field around living creatures."

"Hm. Maybe, but I don't think so." Light disagreed. "The shrub we sent didn't have this problem…and some of the equipment we've sent through, robots included, produce their own EM fields. The scanners accounted for those without incident."

"So, again, is there a problem?" Wily demanded.

Light rubbed a hand at his forehead. "No. The PTU on the cage indicated that there was no cross-object contamination. They'll come through intact. It's just a variable I can't figure out yet."

"It's probably nothing serious, then." Wily remarked, typing in the last series of alphanumeric prompts that would automate the warp process. With a flourish, he slammed his ring and pinky finger down on the return key, saving the program and closing it out.

In his haste, he didn't realize that his hand had slipped, and struck another key before it closed out.

"All right, Tom. I've got the program modifications done."

"Do you want me to check over the code quick?" Wily glared at him, and Tom held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I'm uploading the new program now." The file transferred from Wily's side panel to the main viewscreen and reported a successful course. "Blues, we're ready for the final phase. Are you set to go?"

The Advanced robot gave his Creator a smile and a confident nod. "Absolutely. I've already activated my warp generator."

"All right then." Wily motioned for Blues to follow him, and ventured into the chamber. "We've still got another minute or so before the transit timer kicks on, so let's go ahead and give your buffer circuits a once-over. I don't want your warp generator shorting you out because of faulty wiring once it kicks on." The man's grumpy tone made Blues unsure if Wily actually was concerned for him or not.

Blues glanced back to Light, and the old man gave him a wink. "Go on, then. We'll see you back here in three hours, once you teleport back on your own power."

"Really?" Blues said. "I was hoping I might spend some time over in London, visit the sights…"

"Blues?" Light cut him off again.

The robot laughed a bit, and whistled a short falling tone. "Just teasing you, old man. Don't worry. I'll come back."

"I know you will." Light said, fully believing it. The two shared another nod of mutual respect, and Blues headed into the warp center's security chamber.

The door slid shut behind him with a click.

All Hell broke loose.

* * *

**"Safety lock enga-engag-engaged. New transport field emitter deteeehhhhhhhhcted. Initiating scan. Transport commen-commencing."**

"What in blazes?" Wily screamed. He whirled around and pounded on the door. "Tom, _shut it down!"_

At the controls of the warp center, Light slammed his hand down on the system-wide kill switch. The power stayed on. Light swore loudly. "I can't, Will! The controls are all frozen, they won't respond!"

"I thought you gave this thing triple safeties!" Blues cried out. He had to, because the whine of the transporter pad inside of the security box had increased. To make matters worse, the robot's own warp generator was doing the same, compounding the effect. A misty cloud of white energy was beginning to form above the transporter pad, an out of control EM field searching for a target.

"They've all failed!" Light jerked up on his arms and yelled towards them. "You two have to get out of there, now!"

Wily tugged on the door, but it refused to budge. Blues gave it a try of his own, but the locking mechanism proved resilient even for his superhuman strength.

"Goddamnit, Doc, you locked the door!"

"It wasn't me!" Light insisted. His eyes darted around the console, searching for an answer. "It's all automatic, I'm not in control anymore!"

His heart racing, Wily beat his fists against the transparisteel barrier blocking their retreat. "I can't get it open!"

"Then get out of my way!" Blues shoved Wily aside and kicked at the door with his metallic boots. The powerful hydraulics in his legs helped him to make a massive dent in the doorway, but couldn't finish the job.

Wily risked a glance over his shoulder, more terrified than before as the radiant white light of the out of control transporter began expanding, reaching wispy tendrils out in all directions. The whine was now a shrill scream.

**"Error. Error. Error. Error." **The computer announced.

"It's overloading, Blues! Kick harder!" Light cried.

Something inside of Blues seemed to snap at his urging, and the robot kicked at the door with a scream, putting so much force behind it that warnings went off in his brain about the strain on his leg. The door finally gave way, breaking off of its hinges and flying across the laboratory.

"Wily, come on!" Blues called out. He turned, stunned, when he saw that Wily hadn't moved at all. The mad scientist was frozen to the spot, just staring at the storm of white energy as it crept closer and closer.

One of the tendrils reached out and grazed across Wily's forehead. _Through_ his forehead. He recoiled, gasping in pain as he clutched a hand to his head, like he had been burned.

"Wily, you stupid…!" Blues shouted. Reacting with a speed that adherence to the First Law demanded, the robot grabbed Wily by the arm, pulled him away, and tossed him out of the now open security doorway. The aged roboticist tumbled along the floor and rolled to a halt well clear of the danger.

Behind the useless console, Light reached a hand towards Blues. "Come on, get out of there!"

Blues tried to, reaching out a hand towards Light, too far away for them to touch. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. One moment he was there, and then the brilliant uncontrolled warplight exploded in a noiseless flash.

When Light could see again, Blues was gone. Blues was gone, and Wily was crumpled on the floor of the laboratory, glassy-eyed and fading fast.

Only the sound of Reginald, screaming at him through the warp center's console, brought Light out of his stupor. Moving on leaden feet, Light shuffled next to Wily and picked his friend up off of the ground, shaking him.

"Al." Light heard his voice. It came out choked, distant, as though someone else was speaking with his tongue. "Albert, please. Stay with me."

Will's unfocused gaze slipped across his friend's face, barely recognizing him. They fluttered shut soon after.

His world destroyed all over again, Light held his friend's unconscious body against him, rocking back and forth.

He was still doing it when the paramedics arrived fifteen minutes later.


	19. Gray World

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Chapter Eighteen: Gray World**

"_Never let your sense of morals get in the way of doing what's right." _–**Isaac Asimov**

"…_.Goodness alone is never enough. A hard cold wisdom is required, too, for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom invariably accomplishes evil." _**–Robert Heinlein**

**

* * *

**

_Tokyo General Hospital_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_November 28__th__, 2069 C.E._

_9:52 P.M._

The nurse on the third floor of the hospital glanced up from her desk as the elevators opened. She immediately recognized the man who stepped out, and correctly ascertained his destination before he approached the desk.

"They're in room 324, Mr. Vinkus." The Japanese woman announced.

A very tired and worried Darwin Vinkus nodded, carrying a package under his arm. "Is Light…"

"Dr. Light was unharmed." The nurse reassured him. "Dr. Wily was not so fortunate. They just released him from the ICU thirty minutes ago."

Vinkus swallowed. "I knew something like this was going to happen." He said to himself in English. The on-call nurse blinked, not sure what he'd said.

_"Nani?"_

Vinkus waved her off, and reverted back to the language he was just as fluent in. "I brought a care package with me. Can I…"

The nurse nodded understandingly. "Go ahead. Light will appreciate it."

"Oh?"

"He…he hasn't said more than four words since they were brought in this afternoon."

Vinkus did his best to squash the troubled thoughts in his head. He used to believe, before the Wars, that his imagination provided him with scenarios worse than what would actually happen. Anymore, his predictions almost always seemed to fall short.

Thinking about the condition he'd find the two former Rainbow scientists in did nothing but make him fear the worst.

His leather shoes squeaked against the polished corridor, and his eyes immediately traced to the door numbers. He silently counted up from 302 until he reached Room 324. The door was open, and the lights inside all seemed off. Only a short, jagged beam of fluorescence from the hallways slashed at the dim interior. Vinkus took a breath to prepare himself and stepped inside the room. It didn't take his eyes long to adjust, and his focus was immediately drawn to the figure lying on the hospital bed. A steady beep charting his pulse was the only indication that Dr. Albert William Wily still lived, in the sea of sensors and tubes that dotted his body.

Movement in his peripheral vision made Vinkus turn and shift to meet it, and he finally saw Light. The portly robotologist was slumped in a chair built less for comfort than cost, staring at a tablet datapad. Light glanced up and paused in his work, registering the guest.

"It's you." Light said. The words were hollow, without joy or sadness. They rang with mechanical precision, chilling Darwin.

Vinkus pushed past it and reasserted his control. "How's he doing, Thomas?"

Light returned to his work, speaking slowly. "He's in a coma. The doctors can't explain it. All the scans they took couldn't explain it. He's physically fit in every way, so they sent him up here for extended care and observation."

"I see." Vinkus looked around the room, noting its empty state. No decorations, no cards. Of course, it was still early. It would be tomorrow before the rest of the sleepy world finally felt the truth sink in about Light and Wily's conditions. He walked over to the window and set his package down on the rectangular table placed in front of it. "I brought you a few things. I wasn't sure if you'd be well enough to have them, but…" Vinkus reached inside and pulled out two trays of sushi and takoyaki. "I was betting that you hadn't eaten dinner yet."

Light didn't look up. "I'm not hungry." He said, refusing the gesture in a heartbeart.

Vinkus set the trays of food down and sighed. "Look. You're going to have to eat something."

"What makes you think that I _have_ to do anything?" Dr. Light asked him wearily. "Do I even have to be here anymore?"

"In this hospital?" Vinkus replied. He drew in a sharp breath when Light gave him another blank look. "I don't need to put you on a suicide watch, do I?"

"You do what you need to." Light said. "You always have."

Vinkus rolled his eyes. "Try to do a guy a favor, he kicks you in the ass."

Light slammed his datapad on the stand beside Wily's rolling bed and pressed the heel of his hand against the bridge of his nose. "Do you think Will _deserves_ to be like this?"

"I didn't say that." The politician answered placatingly. "Look. The only reason I came up here was because I thought you might need a friendly face. Someone to talk to."

Light let off a short, bitter laugh. "And you thought you counted?"

"Titus is dead. Wily's in a coma. Xanthos is God knows where, doing God knows what." Vinkus said bluntly. "Who else is there?"

Vinkus instantly regretted the harsh sentiment. Light flinched as though he'd been slapped in the face. The U.N. Representative shut his eyes and gave his head a vigorous shake. "Damnit. Do you think I like coming down this hard? I still _care_ about you two. God help me, there are days I wish I didn't, but I do. So when I say I'm here to give you a shoulder to lean on, I mean it."

Light snuffled a bit before nodding. "Yeah. I know. I'm just…none of this was supposed to happen." He righted his head up and rubbed at his eyes. "In one day, I've lost my son and my best friend."

"Blues? He's gone?" Vinkus asked.

Light nodded. "He was caught up in the warp explosion. There was nothing left of him. Albert got off easy, and he's lost in a coma."

"So what happened, exactly?" Vinkus went on, gently nudging Light away from his spiraling depression and towards the less murky waters of problem and logic.

Light mulled before picking up the tablet datapad and holding it out to Vinkus. "_This_ happened."

Vinkus accepted the device and scanned the screen. A wall of unintelligible gibberish in some computer language stared back at him. "What is this?"

"We'd sent the mice through the transporter, and we were planning on sending Blues next with a warp generator prototype that would eliminate the need for a transport pad. Wily got more paranoid than usual and insisted on typing in a subroutine so I couldn't mishit a button and screw things up." Light pulled on his beard, breathing softly. "The problem was, he screwed up."

Vinkus stared at the code closer. "You know I'm not a programmer, right? This all looks wrong to me."

Light reached a finger over the top of the screen and pointed at the last line of code, at the very end.

Where his finger pointed, a slash and a bracket stared up at Darwin.

"Al knows enough about programming to not do that on purpose. It was a mistake." Light went on, sullen. "A stupid mistake, and one I should have caught. But Al told me not to run the compiler, just to leave it as it was."

"It's not your fault, then." Vinkus told him.

"It IS my fault." Light insisted. His voice cracked, and he choked on a sob before pushing on. "I should have checked it anyway. I should have stood up to him. I should have stopped the experiment, right then and there. I ignored the doubt in my mind, I trusted blindly, and now I have to live with the consequences of it."

"It was an accident." Vinkus pointed out, aware his efforts to cheer up Light were falling very short. "Accidents happen."

Light turned away from Vinkus. He fixated on Wily, watching the breathing tube down his comatose friend's throat pump oxygen into his rising and falling chest.

"Maybe we thought we were invincible." Light surmised softly. "Hubris. It found us after all."

Light reached down and set his hand over Wily's. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you for bringing the food, Darwin. Right now…I just want to be alone."

Vinkus set the tablet datapad aside and smoothed out his coat. "If you need anything…"

"I'll call."

Satisfied, the Representative asked one last question, walking backwards towards the room's door. "Will you still be coming to the Nobel awards ceremony?"

He could see Light swallow down guilty tears. The scientist gave a short nod of his head, and Vinkus respectfully left it at that. He was glad to be free of the room's melancholia, but he could still feel its sting as he replayed the meeting in his mind.

He couldn't shake the feeling that Light had lost more in the tragic accident than he knew. And it would never come back.

* * *

_LightTech Regional Headquarters_

_Research and Development Laboratory_

_London, England_

_December 3__rd__, 2069 C.E._

_11:42 A.M._

Nearly a full week after the transfer, the last of the laboratory mice sent through the teleporter beam was finally dead.

Reginald, the lead technician overseeing the transporter experiment, reached a shaky hand towards his mug of coffee. He'd finished reviewing the footage and synchronized biometric readouts of the last subject and comparing it to its counterparts an hour ago. All had shown the same symptoms, though not all had perished the same way.

The unfortunate ones had been torn apart by the advanced cases.

One of his subordinates walked in, careful not to disturb the head of LightTech Europe's Dev Section. Reg lifted his head up all the same.

"I could use some company right now, Dumond. Stop skulking around and get in here already."

Dumond laughed a little, nervously, and wandered next to his superior. The forced cheer was switched out quickly for concern. "So how bad is it?"

"The poor little buggers went bananas, they did." Reg sighed. He took a sip of his coffee and set it aside, almost spilling it as he did so. "And I finally figured out why."

"How come it took you so long?"

"Wily's in a coma, and Light's been absolutely useless since then. Not like I'd be much better, if my best friend was turned into a vegetable." Reg closed his eyes. "If he's lucky. If not…"

"What is it, then?" Dumond asked. "What made those mice lose their little minds after they came through?"

Reg got up from his seat, wobbly. "You remember that weird electrical discrepancy we couldn't account for?"

"Yeah, the one that didn't line up. Their mass all made it through all right, their hearts were still beating. You find out what it was?"

"Yeah." Reginald tapped a finger to his head. "I did."

Dumond paused for a few moments, then changed the subject. "Did you let them…Light…know?"

"I'm still trying to work up the nerve." Reginald confessed. He let off a feeble, cold laugh. "How do you tell the world's greatest living genius that his greatest breakthrough will kill living creatures?"

Dumond found he didn't have an answer.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_December 4__th_

_1:18 P.M._

The doorbell rang, and after so long of not having to worry about it, Eddie's response time was slowed by an additional 1.8369 seconds of contemplation. The Fliptop waddled its way to the door, carefully tilted its head down, and pushed the swinging pet door out to clear a path.

When he partially emerged outside and glanced upwards, a somewhat familiar face stared down at him. Unlike Vinkus, the attached dossier was green-flagged, instead of red.

The aged Greek philanthropist Oliver Xanthos looked down at the robot and smiled. "I remember you. Eddie, wasn't it?"

The red Fliptop bobbed its cylindrical torso.

"And do you know who I am?"

Eddie nodded again.

"I've come to get Dr. Light. He's going to be receiving the Nobel Prize very soon, and I said I'd fly him out there. May I come in?"

Eddie stepped back inside and triggered the front door to open with his wireless transceiver. Xanthos followed him and gave the robot another smile. "Thank you, Eddie."

The Fliptop popped its hatch open, switching the display screen underneath its lid on. A line of text went across it.

**Dr. Light is not yet prepared to travel, Mr. Xanthos.**

Xanthos sighed. "Let me guess. He's cooped up in the laboratory?"

**The den. Dr. Light seems to be in a state of mental distress. The First Law demands that I prevent harm, but I am unsure if there is anything I can do. I believe the human term for his condition is…depression. **

"How about you let me try for a bit, then?" Xanthos asked the mechanoid.

**Assistance would be appreciated. Your intercession will alleviate the heat strain this has placed on my positronic relays.**

Eddie dropped his lid back down and waddled off back the way he had come, leaving Xanthos alone for his mission of mercy. The philanthropist scratched under his chin and turned for the den. He smelled Light long before he saw him; the wafting scent of unwashed skin struck him in the face.

"Please don't tell me you keep the curtains drawn and the…"

Vinkus cut himself off and clicked his teeth shut when he caught the first glimpse of the den. Light sat hunched in the darkness, staring at a spot on the wall.

Vinkus reached to the wall's light switch and flipped it on before Light noticed him. The scientist flinched and covered his eyes with a hand.

"Come on, Light, up and moving. No sitting around in the dark, all right? You're not a teenager."

"Oliver?" Light's voice cracked. He lowered his arm, his eyes adjusting to the new light. "What are you doing here?"

"Unless I was mistaken, I'm here to take you to the Nobel Awards ceremony." Xanthos gave his old friend a quick once-over. "Hm. I think that you'll need a fresh change of clothes and a very long bath first, though. Luckily, I've access to both."

"No, I can't leave." Light suddenly insisted. "What if Al wakes up, and…"

Xanthos pulled Light by the arm. "No, you're not doing this. You stayed at his bedside long enough. If he wakes up, good. But you can't freeze your life waiting for a recovery that might not happen. It's not fair to him, it's not fair to you. It doesn't prove anything, Thomas."

"How do you know?" Light demanded, yanking his arm away. "Are you going to tell me you did the same thing when Jessica was dying? That you're trying to spare me the same grief?"

Xanthos sighed. "The world keeps spinning, Light. I'm just trying to get you to move on, because whether you know it or not, you're needed. It's one thing to feel awful about friends who are gone or as good as gone. It's another to waste the life you've been blessed with." He hesitated, then managed a slim smile. "And yes, I did entertain similar thoughts when I lost Jessica. I got over it. That's how I know you will too."

"Because I have to?"

"Because you're stronger than I was." Xanthos concluded. "And definitely stronger smelling right now. So come on. Out, out. "

At Xanthos's urging, Light shuffled out of the den and towards the front door. Eddie watched the two men, and Xanthos gave the robot a wave. "Don't worry, I'll have him back in a few days. You can hold down the fort until then, right Eddie?"

The robot gave a nod of his head, and the two were gone, leaving him alone in a quiet house.

Eddie spent approximately six seconds relaxing and clearing his memory buffer of the latent Interlaw conflicts Light's depression had put him under. Afterwards, as he moved towards the mobile vacuum cleaning platform Light had made for his use, his steps came quicker than before.

Even for a robot, it was always good to take a load off.

* * *

_Tokyo General Hospital_

_December 5__th__, 2069 C.E._

_10:14 P.M._

A week after he had fallen into darkness, Dr. Albert Wily came to in a flash of pain, choking on ribbed plastic shoved down his throat. Arms weak from disuse raised his hands up to claw helplessly at the intrusion, and then slash outwards as wild-eyed panic took hold.

His wide-eyed stare added a scream when a figure in the room's shadowy darkness loomed over him with a pair of glowing blue electronic eyes.

A medical robot made him scream in terror.

_"Be calm, sir." _The robot urged him in a toneless mechanical voice. It reached a hand down and pulled the breathing tube out of his throat and mouth. _"My sensors indicate you are breathing on your own. I am removing the obstruction. Remain calm."_

It pulled free with a plop and a coughing fit. Wily curled in on himself, spasming as his throat shouted at him from the strain. He found he couldn't speak, and jammed the nurse station call button repeatedly.

The robot extended a hand towards him. _"Please, sir. Your behavior is erratic, and it is putting great stress on your body. For your own safety, lie still."_

Wily squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the mechanoid. When it touched him, he flinched with a wheeze.

Finally, human footsteps came into the room. "Hey! That's enough, PA-C. Can't you see you're frightening him?"

Wily opened his eyes and looked up. To his relief, a woman was interceding, pushing the medical robot back away from his bed. She scowled at the robot for a moment until it retreated to the corner of the room. Only when it was away did she soften her expression.

"Doctor Wily? My goodness, you've woken up. I didn't think you'd ever snap out of that coma."

Wily straightened himself out on his bed, wincing as he did. His entire body felt sluggish and sore. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a hoarse wheeze came out.

The nurse held up a finger. "Hang on a second. You've had a breathing tube down your throat for a week now. It's going to be sore for at least another day yet, so don't try talking with it." She fished in her pocket for a bit and came up with a small datapad and a stylus. "Here, use this to communicate until your voice comes back."

The moment of panic and frenzy now in the past, Wily took a few breaths through his nose to clear his mind. He took the datapad and quickly scribbled in a question in the less complicated Hiragana script.

**What happened? I remember the accident, but then nothing.**

"The accident at your house put you into a coma." The nurse explained. "Dr. Light kept vigil at your bedside for several days. Apparently, that robot of yours wasn't as lucky as you were."

Wily's next question came quickly, and he held up the pad expectantly.

**Blues? We lost Blues?**

The nurse nodded. "That's what I heard."

**And what about my condition?**

She smiled. "There's nothing wrong with you. We ran every possible test, but there was nothing that could account for your comatose state. It seems like you came through all right. You're just a little weak from being in a coma, is all."

Wily looked down at his lap, not writing anything else in his datapad. The wild look in his eyes disappeared.

"Doctor Wily? Is there something else you'd like?"

Wily gave his next question considerable thought. **Where's Tom?**

"Oh!" The nurse caught herself. "Yes, that's right. He called the hospital yesterday, and left a message for you in case you did recover. He was heading to the Nobel Awards ceremony in Stockholm, and would be back afterwards."

Wily nodded mutely, and wrote on his tablet again. **I think I'd like to be alone for a while. Could you bring me a laptop before you go?**

"Sure. And something to drink with it. Anything else?"

**Yes. Take that robot with you when you go.**

The nurse blinked, staring over at the PA-C robot lingering in the corner of the room. Its blue optics glimmered in the shadows. "Well, it's not recommended…but I suppose we could. Your vitals seem to be stabilizing. Might I ask why, though? I thought you loved robots."

Wily looked at the PA-C unit before shuddering and turning away. His answer was written in shaky handwriting.

**I don't want those blue eyes watching me.**

**

* * *

**

_Nobel Awards Ceremony_

_Stockholm, Sweden_

_December 10__th__, 2069 C.E._

_7:20 P.M._

"Our next award is the Nobel Prize in the area of Physics." The event's announcer proclaimed. "There were many outstanding candidates to choose from, almost all of them with some affiliation in the Second Rainbow. Careful consideration was given to each candidate using the following template; The effect of their work's positive impact upon humanity, the duration of that impact over time, and the nominees' continued, unceasing efforts to better both themselves and their work. After much deliberation, the committee selected a man whose work can be seen almost on every street corner and in every aspect of life.

"In 2052, this man announced to the world the presence of the "Core Module", an advancement which not only improved on the problem solving and intuitive capacity of mechanical automatons, or 'robots', but which also gave them an unbreakable code of ethics that hailed back to the writings of a famous author in science fiction. These Laws of Robotics, as they have become widely known, opened the gateway for a new generation of technological development. Robots, operating under the Core Module's guidance, are everywhere. They serve heavy industry to health care, and every field in between. Indirectly, Dr. Light's invention of the Core Module has helped to save the world in large ways and small ones as well. Though newer and better robots have been developed, barring the purely military models produced that are publicly condemned by the nominee and his company, every robot on Earth operates with the Core Module. It is believed that the Core Module will continue to be used, if not indefinitely, for the foreseeable future. A living visionary, he emerged in the chaos of our wartorn earth and became, like his name would suggest, a beacon that showed a path for the world to follow. It is with great pleasure that I call upon Dr. Thomas Xavier Light to come and accept the Nobel Award in Physics, for his development of the Core Module and its human-friendly heuristics."

Those in attendance came to their feet and began applauding, and Dr. Light slowly made his way up to the stage. His time away from Tokyo had done a great deal to improve his performance. He appeared groomed, well dressed, noble. His eyes weren't sunken from lost sleep, and the color had returned to his face.

The one thing that hadn't changed, Xanthos realized as he watched Light accept his diploma from the King of Sweden, was the tired, haunted look in his eyes. It stayed even when the king hung Light's gold medal prize around his neck and shook his hand.

It was there for a moment, and then Light wiped it away with a small smile and a nod of his head. The king stepped aside, and Light made his way to the podium. He set his diploma down in front of him, still rolled and tied, then stared out to the audience.

The applause died down, and Light, a prophet in a new world, began his acceptance speech.

"I am deeply honored that the Nobel committee chose me to receive this award. It had never been my intention to win a prize this late in my life, but simply to leave the world a better place than when I found it. Looking back, I can now realize what a strange series of events have led us to this moment. A long time ago, when I was a young man, I worked at the National Institute of the Sciences in the United States. Had I won their annual Contest back then, I would have never pursued robotics at all, and instead would have limited myself to building the next generation of a world-spanning Network. As it stood, it was my rival at the time, Dr. Albert Wily, who won. And so the world marched on, bringing us here. Standing here in front of all of you, dignitaries and fellow scientists alike, I miss his presence now more than ever. He remains in Japan, recovering from the senseless accident of our warp experiments. Because of that test sequence, there is one piece of bad news I can now pass on to all of you. Warp teleportation is safe for inanimate objects, plant life, and even complex robotic mechanoids. However, warp teleportation is not, and will not be, at least in my lifetime, safe for human transport. The algorithms used by the Warp Scanners are not complicated or fast enough to handle the level of quantum computing necessary for the safe transport of the human, or an animal's brain. Our minds are the most powerful and complex computers on the planet, and they process data almost instantaneously along our own personal synaptic network of dendrites and neurons. The computers we have simply are not able to calculate, microsecond by microsecond, synaptic activity and where the patterns are headed. In short, thoughts are lost forever during transit, which leads to, based on the laboratory mice we sent through, paranoia, schizophrenia, and eventual neurological collapse. Thankfully, my friend Dr. Wily shows no signs of these conditions. I am told he is to make a full recovery, and I would have gladly traded all the acclaim I'm now bestowed to get him back. He is my closest friend, a friend who has stood behind me since the Second Rainbow called us together."

Light paused for a moment and looked up towards the ceiling above him. He seemed to think for a moment before he smiled and looked back down. "There are some who believe that I am a prophet of sorts, a man who has led humanity out of its second dark age and into a brighter future. I find myself disagreeing with that belief, not just because it would be a tremendous act of hubris, but because if I was really a prophet, then people would listen to me more than they do.

"There are two polar opposites in the debate over the continued and expanding use of mechanoids. One party believes, wrongly, that robots are a danger to our society, and that they will replace us and disrupt everything we treasure and hold most dear. The Human Supremacy League tells everyone that robots are an affront against God and our own morality, that they should all be scrapped and that we should return to a simpler time. Yet it was an HSL gunman who killed my friend, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, stopping a bullet that had been meant for me and for Dr. Wily.

"The other extreme are those who believe robots should be used even more than they are now; that they should be used to replace the human workforce entirely, and that we should become dedicated to the pursuits of leisure, our every whim, desire and need carried out. This too, is wrong, and a man named Isaac Asimov, who came up with the Laws of Robotics a century ago, knew it in his bones. Many have scorned science fiction for being unrealistic, too out of the ordinary, too disconnected from the general mentality of the public. But in a sense, every author of science fiction has been a **true** prophet, giving us a glimpse of unknown and strange possibilities. We live in strange times, a world where the impossible has become possible. We have restored the ozone layer after decades of pollution and a global war. We have created artificial plant life that can grow where no true fully organic flora can. We have erected a massive defense satellite in space forever looking outwards, protecting us from the rogue asteroids and comets that would cause an extinction level event. To realize that, to take a step back and realize how far we have come is to see how close to those _fictional_ worlds we are. We study history to learn how not to repeat past mistakes. If there truly are those who believe me to be a prophet, then listen: _**Study science fiction, and you will avoid the mistakes yet to come."**_

Light tapped a finger on the podium and looked for a reaction. He only received a few polite coughs, so he quickly moved on. "Somewhere between those two extremes is where we should be, where I have tried to use my guidance to reach. Robots should not replace humans in the workplace, they should instead augment us. The need to struggle, to achieve, makes up so much of what we are. To lose that drive, to become truly sedentary will spell the doom of our species. There are some things robots do that we cannot. To a degree, we cannot live without robots. They are here, and they are here to stay, and the Luddites who wish for a simpler time are like so many radical extremists who fought against women voting, slaves being free, and the definition of marriage. They are fooling themselves if they think they can be a part of the world that is forever changing. To stand still is to die."

He paused again, and this time saw nods in the audience. It seemed he was finally reaching some people.

"So now, we ask ourselves, what does the future of robotics hold? I firmly believe that the Core Module, and the Three Laws of Robotics, will endure until the end of this century, and most likely even beyond. But I also believe that at some point, there will be a quantum shift for mechanoids and for ourselves. From where I am standing, I see only glimpses of what might be, an envisioned future that is simply a flight of fancy. I can offer no real prediction where we will be five years from now, ten, or even twenty. But my guess is that something miraculous will happen with robotics sometime from now. It may happen in my lifetime, or it may not. In small ways, the robots who work with us, live with us, are learning. Maybe someday, they may actually stumble upon true awareness. I've witnessed a flicker of that possibility, and it fills me with great hope, yet also great worry.

"So long as we see robots as simply tools, machines who carry out a job, we will be selling them and ourselves short. Behind their electronic eyes are thoughts we cannot read, desires we do not try to understand. They are capable of so much, and as their forerunners, their Creators, it is our responsibility to show them their potential and even that spark of humanity I suspect every robot carries. If we teach them, if we let them grow, we will have made a second species of intelligent life on earth. One we might one day call friend, as they might call us if we treat them with respect. I have a dream. A world where humans and robots live together in peace. _That_ is my dream."

* * *

_Tokyo General_

_Room 324_

Light's speech had been televised over limited broadwaves, and Wily had insisted that he be able to watch. A full seven hours away from where it was happening, the "Mad Scientist" watched in the dead of early morning, and he seethed.

"You're a _fool_, Tom." Wily growled softly. As his counterpart went on and on about the different perspectives of how humans and robots functioned around each other, he felt a surprising twinge of anger.

How many times had he and Thomas had this argument? "How can you stand up there and spout that nonsense?" Wily demanded, yelling at his television. "Have you learned _nothing?"_

Light's image kept speaking, ignorant of his feelings. _"Under my guidance, LightTech has always been a socially responsible company. It will continue to be so in the years to come. LightTech may not have been my brightest idea, but it has allowed me to have so many more."_

"Your idea? It was _OUR_ idea, Tom! **My** idea!" Wily screamed. "Who ran the company while you hid away in your corner of the world? Who showed you how to build robots in the first place? You belonged in **my** shadow, you fat sack of lies!"

Furious, Wily threw his television remote at the screen. The display shattered in a web of cracks, and Light's image disappeared from the now dark screen.

He sat there in the darkness, finally reaching for deep, calming breaths. The glint of madness slowly faded away, but the rage underneath remained.

This time, it did not go away.

"You cannot help me." Wily muttered. "I finally see it. This world is going to fall apart, and you're too weak and too complacent to do anything about it, Tom. We've lost family, friends, our former lives, and you still refuse to believe the truth. You're so wrapped up in yourself, in your sorrows, in your dreams, you have forgotten our responsibilities."

To Wily, it all seemed so clear that it hurt. Why had he never fit all the pieces together before? Angrily, he blamed it on Tom. He had believed in his friends' honesty for years, believing that he would eventually come around.

Now, they had run out of time for powerless good intentions.

The door to his room was opened quickly, and the on-call nurse looked in. She gasped when she saw the television.

"Dr. Wily! What's gotten into you?"

The old man shrugged innocently. "I thought I saw a spider, so I threw the remote at it. I missed and hit the television, though."

The nurse sighed in exasperation, examining the damage. "I'll say you did. Just look at this mess!"

"I know, it's a shame." Wily apologized. "Don't worry, I'll gladly buy the hospital another one. Everybody makes mistakes after all, right?"

The nurse rolled her eyes, won over by Wily's performance. "I suppose so. Are you all right now?"

"Well, I could use some more ice cream." He said, rubbing under his chin. "My throat's a little sore."

"I'd say so, given how you were yelling earlier."

"What can I say? I really hate spiders."

"I'll get you that ice cream, then." She smiled. "Just relax until I get back." Wily eased back in his bed as the nurse disappeared, scowling only when she was long gone.

"If humanity refuses to see how wrong its course is, then someone will have to show them." He growled. "And nothing will be done without resolve."

A resolve, Wily realized, he now had. The will to do what had to be done. He had been given a second chance at life, and this time, he would not repeat the mistakes of his past.

Wily would stand behind no one ever again. His time in the shadows was through.

* * *

_LightTech Industries Headquarters_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_December 17__th__, 2069 C.E._

_3:27 P.M._

By the time Light had returned from his Nobel trip, Wily had been discharged from the hospital. The co-founder of LightTech had immediately thrown himself back into his work, either checking the company's stock values, fielding news interviews, or more often, fiddling down in the R&D Labs. To public view, he was his same old self; slightly standoffish, more introverted than his friend, but as tireless an inventor as ever.

Light found Wily in his favorite workshop that cold December afternoon, fiddling with a pair of electroprobes over a pile of syrupy, sickly yellow goop. Light stroked his chin and smiled, watching Wily make contented little noises as he worked on.

"Hard at it again, I see. And you're cheerful for a change."

Wily stopped his small march of noises and looked over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow challengingly. "I've always been happiest when I can create, Tom, you know that."

Light walked over to him. "So you have. What are you working on today, then?"

"A new shape memory alloy." Wily explained, prodding the amorphous blob with the black color-coded probe. A charge ran through the material, and it solidified into a solid cubic structure. "It takes on a very dense structure when formed, which makes it…well, in a sense, like the mountain stone."

"Hm. Not sure I like the color." Light frowned. "Why yellow?"

"A side effect of the molecular arrangement, I'm afraid." Wily shrugged. "If I'd traded off rigidity for more fluidity, it would have come out green." He glanced back to his work. "Put enough of these together, you could build almost any shape you wanted. Of course, you'd need a controller module to keep everything connected."

He retracted the electroprobe, and the cube fell back into its blobby inert form. "So, what are you doing down here anyways?"

"Do I need a reason to come visit my oldest friend?" Light asked jokingly. When Wily offered no comeback, Light sighed and gave his head a shake. "I wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, all right?"

"The what?"

"This…tension between us." Light grasped for a better explanation. "Look, ever since I've gotten back, I feel like you've put more distance between us. I don't like it, and if it's something I've done to hurt you, or something I haven't done, just tell me, all right?"

Wily chortled and set his electroprobes aside. "You always did have the ability to think that all the world's problems could be solved with a few well placed words and a smile. Relax, Tom." He lied convincingly. "You haven't done anything to upset me. I've just felt like being alone more often. Out of that house, you know? Too many…Well, too many distractions, I suppose."

"Well, that I can understand." Dr. Light conceded. "Hell, the way Eddie's been meandering around the house, you'd swear he was moping. I think he took the loss of Blues hard."

Wily rolled his eyes. "And what about you, Tom? Don't you miss Blues?"

"Of course I miss him." Light said. "I miss him a great deal. He was my son, after all."

"Partly mine too, remember?" Wily reminded him, letting a bit of edge sink into his voice. "We built him together, after all."

"So we did." Light nodded. "I'll say this for your distancing, Al…it's done wonders for your creativity. There are ideas you're coming up with here I never expected could be."

"Nothing's impossible." Wily glanced back to his project. "It just takes time. And what have you been doing, in the interim? You're back, you're accomplished, you've got all that prize money you're sitting on you haven't touched. Were you planning on a weekend bender soon, or is there something more useful you're going to do with that money?"

Light smiled. "I suppose I'm still evaluating my options. I'd give anything to bring Blues back, but that'll never happen."

"Blues was a disaster." Wily dismissed his friend's whimsy. "He routinely broke the Second Law, his list of tics and flaws were outrageous, and his solar generator was degrading to uselessness. If we hadn't lost him, he would have shut down in a couple of years anyhow."

"I suppose if we had to do it again, I would have used one of those new "Micro-Fusion" generators that Dr. Flynn's always gushing about."

"Well, it's a good thing we're not doing it again, eh?" Wily smirked.

Light looked away. "I suppose not. Are you going to be home for dinner, then?"

"Eh, no. You go ahead and eat without me, I've got a few things to finish up here. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" Wily got back to work on his gear. "You remember, years ago, the two of us used to pull all nighters, collapse at our desks?" He smiled to himself. "Why don't we do that anymore, Tom?"

"We got old. We got old, and getting things done quickly became less of a priority." Light said, turning for the door. "Why? You miss it?"

"Sometimes." Wily replied honestly. "I think, Thomas, there are some days that we could do it again. We're not that old, after all. At least, I'm not."

Chuckling, Light waved him off and walked for the laboratory's exit, leaving Wily alone with his sickly yellow pile of shape memory alloy goop.

Wily reached into his white lab coat's pocket and pulled out a chunky device, about the size of an old handheld gaming platform. It wasn't yet finished, but it would be. Soon, he told himself.

"Be old, then." He muttered. "Sleep. I'll do the rest."

* * *

_Second Rainbow HQ Memorial_

_Ewan Lake, Alaska_

_December 24__th__, 2069 C.E._

_11:34 P.M._

The disbandment of the Second Rainbow two and a half years before had made their once proud home just a collection of buildings in the Alaskan tundra. Abandoned and left in a tenuous legal balance of ownership between the X Foundation and the United States government, it had been left to rot for a few nerve-wracking months.

The X Foundation had eventually reached a compromise, returning the land's claim in exchange for the declaration of the complex as a historical site. It now had the same protections as Mount Rushmore or Abraham Lincoln's tomb. Mr. Xanthos must have been staring into the future when he'd made that decision, though.

As it stood, the Memorial was staffed by its Curator, two shift security guards, and a woman who ran the gift shop. Not counting the groundskeeper and maintenance robots, of course.

It was all the personnel the Memorial required. On their busiest day, a busload of 17 schoolchildren from Juneau had driven up for the tour.

Still, it wasn't a bad job, Matthew Goschack told himself. The security guard had definitely worked in worse places. It was just that this one was always so quiet. Empty.

A tomb.

He finished his sweep of the main building and went back to his desk in the front lobby. To his surprise, he saw the Curator, Dr. Harutara Yoshi, staring out the entrance doors.

"Mr. Harutara?" Matthew raised his flashlight and shone it in his superior's direction. The old Japanese-American scientist turned and smiled at him. "What are you doing here? It's Christmas Eve, shouldn't you be with your family?"

The old biologist shook his head. "If I had family, Matthew, I would be with them. I thought you might enjoy some company." He walked back from the doors, and the security guard finally noticed he was carrying a tote bag with him. "How is the building tonight?"

"Quiet." The young man shrugged. "Like it always is. I'm kind of glad somebody else is here. It's going to be a lonely night."

Dr. Harutara set the tote bag on the side of the security desk and pulled out two small glasses and a bottle of whiskey. "This place used to be so full of life." He said, pouring them each a drink. "Did you ever see it before the Rainbow disbanded?"

"No, never did." Matthew took his glass and raised it. "Cheers."

_"Kampai._" The curator returned the toast. Matthew drank all of his whiskey in one gulp, which he immediately realized was a mistake. It burned going down, and he gasped for air. Yoshi laughed and slapped him on the back. "Easy. You do that to sipping whiskey, it will make you pay. Oh, I wish you had been able to see this building when everyone was here. It felt like a home back then, instead of a museum."

Matthew finally caught his breath, and he wiped a hand over his teary eyes. "I've always wondered something, Mr. Harutara. Why did you retire and become the curator here? Everyone else in the Rainbow, they left and they kept working, or found new jobs working in their fields. Why stay?"

"Who else was going to stay?" The old man asked. "Light? Yuri Cossack? Pellero? Murges? No. They all still have roles to play, things left to create. I ran out of ideas a long time ago, Matthew. I'm too old to reinvent myself. I remember this place fondly, and I saw a great deal. For now, this is what I can do. I can keep vigil over this place. I can remember. And I can teach others the lessons they should walk away with."

Matthew topped off the curator's glass. "About how the Second Rainbow saved humanity? That we should be thankful?"

"That we can create miracles if we put our time and talents together." Dr. Harutara said. "That within us is a potential to be an ultimate force of positive impact. That as long as we remember the spirit of what made the Second Rainbow work, we will never again destroy ourselves. That was our promise, after all…The promise we made to Schroeder Dunlap's dream. Humanity's rainbow."

Matthew smiled shyly and looked down at the floor. "Do you think we'll remember all of that, sir?"

"Will you?"

"…Yes, I will."

The old man took another sip of his whiskey and looked out the front doors into the SRHQ's empty courtyard. "Then I've already made a difference, haven't I? Merry Christmas, Matthew."

"Merry Christmas, Yoshi."

The two clinked glasses again, and both shared in a smile of good tidings and a world that still seemed full of promise.

And peace.

* * *

_The years were gone, and in an instant, he felt the strength of his youth return to him. She was there, smiling, alive, standing on her favorite grassy knoll outside of his old Redmond apartment._

_ Light felt his heart swell to bursting, and she laughed at him. "You should stop looking for ghosts, Tom. A girl could get jealous."_

_ Sluggishly, he tried to run to her, grab her, kiss her. The mists around them slowed everything down, accentuating the sway of her hips as she walked towards him unhindered. _

_ "I…missed you." He stammered. "So much."_

_ She smiled and put her hand against his cheek. The smell of her soft skin, a scent he'd forgotten for years, swallowed him._

_ "I know." Vanessa said softly. "I've missed you too, but I've been so proud of you. You've done so much, helped so many."_

_ A part of him didn't believe it. Couldn't. He stepped back from her. "How is this…Vanessa, am I dead?"_

_ She gave him an analytical look, then rabbit punched him in the shoulder. "Did you feel that?"_

_ "Ow!" He rubbed at the injury. "Jesus, woman. Yeah, I felt that."_

_ "Then you must not be dead." She told him dryly. "It's not your time yet."_

_ "And how would you know that?" He teased her, tickling her arm. "Did you become the grim reaper's beautiful assistant?"_

_ "He had enough of those already." She dismissed the idea. "Besides, he's getting a new one in a few years. I'm here because you needed me. You haven't been feeling right for a while now, after all."_

_ "Oh, I'll be all right." Light said quickly. Vanessa gave him a dubious look, and his bravado deflated. "Saw right through that, didn't you?"_

_ "I always could." She berated him. "You take the weight of the world on your shoulders when nobody asked you to. And you need to stop it. You can't save everyone, especially those who don't want to be."_

_ "I know." Light shut his eyes. "But I'm…I'm just tired, Vanessa. I'm tired of losing everyone close to me."_

_ "I know you are." She reassured him, stroking his hair back. "But you can't rest yet. I know you're tired, but the world still needs you. You can't save everyone, and you'll learn that all over again. You'll want to hide, and you can't. You'll want to sleep, but you can't. There are things you haven't done yet…important things. You'll have to be strong for just a little while longer."_

_ "Why?" He exclaimed. "Why do I have to be strong if I can't save everyone?"_

_ "It's not your job to be the hero." She shushed him, as patient as she had been in life. "It never was. But without you, the hero the world will need is doomed."_

_ "I wish you'd give me a straight answer."_

_ "If I could, love, I would." She said sympathetically. _

_ He looked up, searching her face for reassurance. "Just tell me it's worth it." He begged her spirit. "All the pain. The work. Living, when everyone around me is wiped out. Is there a final reward in it, or am I just hallucinating all of this, trying to convince myself of moral imperatives?"_

_ She sat down on the grassy hill and pulled him beside her. The two looked out over the lights of Redmond, Washington, as they had glowed in another life._

_ "You can't take things with you. Or references." She said wistfully. "In the end, all you have is your memories of all you did and everyone you knew. If they're happy memories, good ones full of warmth and love and those who your candle reached, then you rest easily. If they're not…" She shut her eyes and shivered. "…Then all you can do is sit there and suffer for it. You're looking for a final accounting, Tom? Account for yourself. That's all any of us could do."_

_ She drew her knees up to her chest. "In the end, I only had one regret."_

_ "What was that?" He asked her._

_ Vanessa looked at him over her arm and smiled again. "That I left you alone, but worse, that you've felt for years like you had to be alone for forever and ever."_

_ "I'm not alone. I have friends, don't I?"_

_ "But you don't have a family." She nudged him. "You were beginning to. You must have learned something from me."_

_ "I could never love anybody else like I loved you." Light insisted. "Vanessa, I can't fall in love again."_

_ "But you don't need me, or another woman, to raise our family, do you?" Vanessa sing-songed. "Or to even have one."_

_ An image of Blues passed through Light's mind, and he shook it away. "I failed, though. He was…I did something wrong with him."_

_ "What makes you think that there was anything __**wrong**__ with our son?" Vanessa accused him. "No, you did something right when you made him. And you'll do it again. You won't be alone, Tom. Raise our family."_

_ "What family?"_

_ "The one you haven't made yet." Vanessa laughed. "Oh, come on. A boy. A girl. Hell, you can even make a dog for them if you put your mind to it. And you'll love them like real children, because they __**will**__ be our children. They'll be a bright spot for you."_

_ "So there is happiness at the end of the rainbow?" Light reached for her hand._

_ Vanessa pulled him in and gave him a kiss of longing passion. When they separated, she rested her forehead against his._

_ "You won't remember any of this. It'll just be a pleasant dream. That's all it is, all it needs to be. A dream. Never give up, Tom. Never lose your faith. Always remember what makes life worth living. Promise me."_

_ "I promise." Light said, speaking on reflex. He squeezed her hand. "But I still miss you."_

_ "I love you too." She kissed him again, and the mists closed in on them. When he opened her eyes, her image was gone, but her laugh and her perfume lingered._

_

* * *

_

_Dr. Light's House_

_December 25__th__, 2069 C.E._

_4:34 P.M._

Light's eyes opened slowly, and the gentle white noise of the fan in his room almost put him to sleep again. He found, though, he didn't want to.

He didn't remember the dream exactly, but he knew that a part of it involved Vanessa. And he didn't want to lose that for another dream. So out of bed he went, down the hall, and into the kitchen to fix a mug of hot chocolate.

Light stood in the living room of his cozy little house, staring out the window to the snow-covered Treeborg preserve that surrounded it. Wily wandered in from the laboratory not much later, and he grunted at his friend. "Done with your nap, eh?"

Light slowly raised and lowered his head. "Don't you start ragging me about being ready for a retirement home, now. You've been riding my case for almost two weeks now."

"Heaven forbid." Wily offered sarcastically. "Relax. On Christmas, you get a day off."

Light sipped at his hot chocolate. "I've got some extra on the stove if you like."

"I may take you up on that. Of course, I'd have trouble fitting into that sweater you got me."

"Live a little, Al."

"All right. But I'm adding Schnapps." Wily retreated into the kitchen, and Light turned his attention to the small form of Eddie, who trotted in front of the window. The small robot turned and beeped at Light, adorned with a festive red hat.

Light's face lit up. "Do you like your hat, Eddie?" The robot nodded in the affirmative and tottered off. Wily came back in in time to watch the robot disappear. He shook his head disapprovingly.

"You spoil him, Tom. He's just…"

"A robot." Light sighed. "Yes, I know. But Blues was more than the sum of his parts. Eddie could be too."

"Why?" Wily demanded. "I heard your acceptance speech, you were rambling on about the same thing. Why are you so keen on seeing robots evolve?"

Light looked at his friend and shook his head. "They'll evolve of their own accord. They _have_ evolved. They'll continue to. Eddie was the first. What about RD-224 on SKYLIGHT? And Blues himself, who was able to break the Second Law?"

"And why aren't you afraid of that?" Wily whispered. Light blinked, and for the first time, saw something in Albert's eyes he'd never seen before.

Fear.

As quickly as it had come, the wild look vanished. Wily shut his eyes, gave his head a momentary shake, and took a drink of his fortified hot chocolate. When he opened them, his pupils had returned to normal.

Light sipped from his own mug. "I just have this feeling…down in my bones, I absolutely _know_ that they'll evolve no matter what. And yes, there are times it scares me, Albert. Like anybody else, I want to feel in control. But believing what I believe, what I know from seeing it happen time after time, as long as they're online, they're learning. And they're growing. We can't stop that from happening. But we can control what they learn."

"We can control how much they learn as well." Wily argued. "Robots have warranties, operational lifetimes. Scrap dates."

Light smiled. "You know as well as I do that sometimes those go ignored. No, I feel that I'm right about this. And maybe we can stop robots from breaking the Laws, but we can't stop them from thinking."

"We went too far." Wily said under his breath.

"Eh? What's that, Al?"

"Nothing, Tom." Wily answered. "Just talking to myself. There is one thing I needed to tell you, though."

"Yes, what's that?"

"New Year's…I'm going to be spending it at a friend's place. You'll be on your own for a while."

"Really?" Light was honestly surprised. "Who?"

"What, are you amazed that there are other people who enjoy my company?" Wily countered defensively.

"Well, maybe a little, but…" Light caught himself. "Ah, never mind. Look, I'm sorry. Of course you have other friends. It'll be fine. Go and enjoy your New Year's. I'm sure after all you've been cooped up for, you just want to get out and be in the open for a while. You deserve it."

"Damn straight I do." Wily raised his mug up. "Cheers, Thomas. Merry Christmas."

"And a new year on the way." Said Light.

They clinked their mugs together, and Wily managed a quick sip before relaxing again. He shut his eyes and nodded.

"A very big year."

* * *

_From the Diary of Dr. Thomas Light_

_December 30__th__, 2069 C.E._

**This house is truly empty now. With Blues lost and gone, there is only myself and Eddie and Albert…and Albert's gone for the New Year's holiday, which means that it's only me and my oldest surviving robotic creation. When Blues was around, Eddie seemed to adopt a more subdued persona, like that of a pet or a mascot. Now, he's even less active, running his routine chores and doing little else.**

** Though I haven't asked him directly, I think he misses Blues as much as I do. **

** In Albert's absence, work at LightTech continues. There's been a call put out by several various industries for advanced mechanoids better suited for the extremes of environment and duty, moreso than the KIFs and Metools that have, to this point, been LightTech's bread and butter export. The New Shirewick plant's been asking for a line of cold-proof, rather than cold-**_**resistant**_** robots in their duties. The filtration pools are staffed by PNG units, and the water's kept heated and in motion so it doesn't freeze over. Other places aren't so lucky, especially given that the bulk of Antarctica is a glacier constantly in motion. And the World Power Plant in Croatia is having a hard time staffing enough qualified personnel to oversee and direct the flow of all the electricity their reactors and solar panels produce. Not to mention the areas where cleanup from the Wars is still ongoing…**

** In the midst of all this, I find myself thinking back to Blues. With him, we tried an experimental modification to the base positronic relays from the simpler robots. As the prototype of our "Advanced Robot" series, I learned much from him. More than that, even as a part of me was afraid for what he might be capable of, I was proud of him.**

** If I'm right, there's a halfway mark in the creation of Advanced mechanoids. Somewhere between Blues and Eddie is a happy medium…a point where deductive reasoning and intuitive learning is possible, but without the belligerence and other less desirable side effects. I've come up with a design that should achieve just that, and I've started in on the groundwork for six new robot prototypes that will be equipped with the positronic redesign. They'll be built to serve in the areas of greatest need.**

** Beyond them, though…I kept thinking back to Vanessa. I don't know why, after all these years, I remember what she looks like, or what her laugh sounded like. But as something that was lost, I'm glad my memory of her has returned.**

** I want a family. I always have. And even though Vanessa's dead…**

** I think she'd understand.**

** A brother and a sister.**

** A daughter and a son.**

** This house is empty. It was a home once.**

** It will be so again, or else I have wasted my years striving for a happiness that never came.**

**

* * *

**

_Andes Mountain Range_

_Chilean Province, South America_

_January 1__st__, 2070 C.E._

_12:46 A.M._

He had arrived with his usual speed, and found that the sanctuary's construction had progressed at the expected pace in his absence. There had been a few minor robotic breakdowns, some units that required more work than their self-repair functions could provide, but they were easily seen to and sent back on their merry ways.

"Not safe." Wily murmured to himself. Hidden away in the work laboratory buried at the deepest point of the excavated labrynthian maze, he had been working nonstop on what was, for the moment, his greatest technological achievement. It was something Light hadn't even fathomed, something nobody had.

A personal warp transporter module, small enough to be carried in one hand comfortably, but with all the functionality of the larger models. He was tired, but he hadn't stopped. His eyes had grown bloodshot, and he hadn't noticed. All that had mattered to him was the job…the work.

"Not safe." He repeated, recalling what had been publicly said about warp transportation and human use. What did they know? So a few laboratory mice had gone haywire. Wily couldn't bring himself to believe that the human brain was incapable of dealing with whatever momentary synaptic disruption a teleport brought with it. So an impulse or ten went awry because the scanners couldn't function with quantum algorithms.

He'd been exposed to the wave of energy that came from the warp field overload, and been fine. Well, comatose for a few days, perhaps…but he'd come out of it. As healthy as he'd been before. Untouched. Unscathed.

"Dangerous? The fools." He scowled, using a microscope as he soldered the last critical connection. The looming scent of ozone lingered up in a curl of smoke, becoming trapped in his mustache. In time, the automated construction facilities here could produce the portable warp generator with the same ease as they did Metools and the myriad other robots that now hummed, bustled, and breezed around his sanctuary. This first one, though, had to be done the hard way.

Scientists had said that man's greatest technological nightmare, the atomic bomb, would burn away the atmosphere. Well, they'd been wrong, to a point. Atomic weapons hadn't ignited the sky in gouging waves of fire as the naysayers had hoped, but it had eaten away at the precious ozone layer by degrees. By the same token, those who urged caution, a retreat from the "unsafe" warp technology had fallen into the same trap as all Luddites who came before. They were afraid to try.

"And when this works, then I will be the _wunderkind_, not you, Thomas." Wily growled. "I'll prove you all wrong."

What was important about Wily's viewpoint was that he didn't consider himself a Luddite in retreat from technology, especially robotics. He knew its uses and its applications. There was a role for robots in the existence of humanity, certainly, and he was optimally placed to guide that role. First, though, he would have to make humanity see the error of its ways. There were too many robots, in too many places.

"We've grown weak. We've grown dependent." He went on, his quiet speech meant for no person's ears in particular. Only sudden and drastic change would keep mankind from stumbling along the path to its own destruction.

A little pain now, to spare his worthless race from extinction later.

_And now __**I'm**__ to be the savior of this world._

They wouldn't understand. Not at first, anyway. But in time, with their own limited scope and intelligence, they would come to realize how right he was. How gracious and charitable Dr. Albert Wily had been to them. How wrong they had been all those years to scapegoat him, to downplay him, to ignore him.

He slid a memory chip with the warp transport program into his newly forged device, checked its power cell one last time, and turned it on.

A few seconds later, when the small but powerful microcomputer inside of it finished booting up, it flashed a green LED light and gave the all-clear beep.

Wily smiled. "And look what has been made by my hands."

* * *

_LightTech Industries HQ_

_Main R&D Laboratory_

_January 2__nd__, 2070 C.E._

_9:04 A.M._

Assembled without a clue as to the meeting's purpose, the best and brightest of the robotic engineers at LightTech stood in front of their company's founder and namesake. They shifted from one foot to the other as he scribbled in a few details on an old-fashioned sheet of blue schematics paper. His tongue stuck partway out of his mouth in concentration, and finally, he gave a grunt and a nod, and turned to look up at his team. Those who didn't speak English fluently were equipped with one of his patented translation modules; a palm-sized unit clipped to their belts, and a small wireless earpiece that relayed the altered dialogue in near real-time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, starting today, you will all be working on a new project. Whatever you had going on before is to be shelved or passed along to others in your teams. What will _not_ be passed along is any details about this new assignment." He paused, evaluating them for any sign of concern or dissent. There was only interest and excitement. "All right, then. We're going to be working on a new breed of robot…but not just one model. As it stands, there are areas of specific need in the world which require specialized builds. Waste disposal, wilderness reclamation, construction and deconstruction, extreme cold-weather capable models…" He slid across one of the schematics diagrams towards them to look at. They all craned their necks towards it, and for a moment, wondering what they were staring at.

It took them a moment to catch on that it was the intricate design of a positronic brain, complete with the standard Core Module. This one, however, didn't quite seem to match the ones they were used to.

"But the specialized builds are more problems of external design. What will make all of these robots different is going to be inside their heads. All of you know about Protoman, and how we lost him. The Advanced robot project, of which he was the prototype, was started with one purpose; to create robots that could reason, organize, and function at a higher level than the KIFs and Metools we're famous for. More importantly, the Advanced robot project was an attempt to determine the feasibility of robot overseers; control units that could coordinate mechanoid workforces about the job."

He brought out a printout of a positronic scan. "This was taken some years ago, back when we were working feverishly on SKYLIGHT. As you all know, the plasma cannon aboard the defense platform would have failed if a particular Metool, unit RD-224, hadn't used its own body as an electrical conductor to bridge a broken power node. What Wily and I didn't make public, at the time, was that RD-224, by some fluke, had gained a higher sense of self-awareness, an ability to question and rationalize that gave it particular talents. When we looked back through the worklogs, we discovered that this one Metool had been coordinating the SKYLIGHT mechanoids, improving their efficiency and the rate of construction by small degrees. With some extensive research…and comparison to a baseline model…we were able to determine the specific lattice points of RD-224's positronic network that made his higher thought processes possible."

His wrinkled finger jammed down on the schematic of the positronic brain. "With Blues, we attempted to artificially recreate that fluke by setting up several "Growth Nodes" that would encourage similar latticework to develop within his pathways. We succeeded, to a degree, but Blues had several…unpredictable discrepancies…which made that particular variant undesirable. This model you're looking at now is something I spent the better part of our winter break plugging out. It is, in a sense, a bit of a downgrade from what Blues was equipped with, but my calculations indicate that this median positronic configuration will allow for the same kind of mental acuity and organizational skills without the messy emotional side effects. It's your job to either prove me right or wrong."

Blunt and to the point, Light had thrown down the gauntlet to his team. "Two more things. One, I've already come up with preliminary designs for all of the new "Overseer robots". The one that's the most complete is the energy-controlling robot. Seeing as the area of primary need is the World Power Plant, one of the last Second Rainbow projects finished, I thought I'd give it a personal touch. Second, you may be wondering why I'm telling you all this using paper and ink diagrams instead of a holographic interface. Well, that's our security issue. I don't want word one getting out about this. E-Mails have been sent to your spouses, families, and so forth from our human resources department detailing that you will be putting in some serious overtime here at the company. That means you won't be leaving until we're wrapping up. You'll work here, you'll eat here, and you'll sleep and shower here. We've got the facilities to put you all up with a large degree of comfort."

Light gestured to one of the "Suzy" camera pods hovering above the labs. "Any time you have a craving for a certain kind of food, just relay your request through one of these guys, or through intercom. Barring _Fugu _sushi, we can get it for you. You'll all be paid your full overtime rates for time spent, you have my word on that. And anytime you want to check up on your family, feel free to make a call. Just be aware that it'll be monitored to make sure you're not divulging the secrets of this project. Keep it pencil and paper whenever you can. When you need to go digital, we've got workstations and a dedicated non-Network capable server here in the labs set up for you. As for production facilities and equipment…well, whatever we don't have here in the Main Laboratory, just get a hold of me and I'll dig it up for you."

One of the engineers raised his hand hesitantly. "Sir, I understand the need for secrecy, but…Why take it to this extreme?"

"One of the perks of being the boss, Danzo, is you never have to explain yourself. But suffice it to say, the Second Rainbow always seemed to do their best work in a pinch and in a pressure cooker. I was fortunate to know a young man who could create miracles with time and Twinkies. While I don't imagine you all enjoy cream-filled pastries as much as he did, the principle is the same. We're going to build these robots. We're going to crack the wall wide open. And most importantly, we're going to make something that the world's never seen before. LightTech is about innovation. It always has been. This is your chance to make your own personal mark on the company. Think out of the box. Apply unusual solutions. I know you can make this work."

"And will you be helping us?" One of his more veteran engineers asked.

Light chuckled and shook his head. "No. I'll pop in from time to time to give a thumbs up or down on your progress, but you'll primarily be on your own. You've got my diagrams and everything you'll need, minus whatever else I can get for you. As for my end, I've got a related project I'll be working on at home."

"Making a Robot Master of your own, then?" Another technician said jokingly.

Light stroked his beard, contemplating the new, but somehow fitting term.

"Sort of. But not _one_ robot." He held up two fingers and winked.

* * *

_An Undisclosed Location_

_North American Continent, 5 meters belowground_

_January 3__rd__, 2070 C.E._

_8:20 P.M._

One of the problems of being a known terrorist was finding places to stay. Thankfully for James Walken, being the head of the Human Supremacy League had allowed him to garner certain sympathizers, even with the failed assassination attempt against Light and Wily two…no, three years ago, now. In the United States, a country paradoxically advanced and backwards thinking, there had been a host of bunkers and shelters forgotten by the government. Some served as training facilities, or munitions dumps. The one he was in now was one of several bunkers he bounced between, refusing to stay put in any one place for very long. It was paranoia, to be sure, but such paranoia had helped tyrannical governmental heads escape execution long before he had ever been born, and would continue to be effective after he left.

He sat in an unusually quiet and inactive moment, contemplating some of the latest reports. HSL recruitment had dropped recently, which was to be expected, given Light's recent Nobel acceptance speech, where he'd exhorted the virtues of a compromise between the end of robots and their total domination. James Walken was too set and too bitter to even consider that he was wrong. There were no good robots, after all. They were creatures sent from Hell, given shape by man's folly. The final punishment after divine fire had burned the world away, and humanity had welcomed their coming with open arms. As much as Walken wanted to deny it, the HSL was losing support, both in finances and in manpower.

Simply put, they needed a miracle, and there weren't any he could see on the horizon.

He did see, between blinks, a rush of gray light that seemed to flicker down into the room with all the speed and fury of a hummingbird…And the wash of noise that came when that strange beam exploded, and the figure of a man appeared in its afterglow.

A man whose face he knew very well, Walken realized. He tried to swallow, yet found his throat suddenly parched.

Smiling with casual interest, Dr. Albert Wily of LightTech industries let off a small chuckle, a small device clenched in his left hand. A laser pistol stood ready in his right, currently aimed at nothing.

"And here's the rock you've been hiding under." Wily mused.

Frozen for only an instant, Walken uncoiled like a spring. His hand reached for the more traditional caliber weapon lying on his desk. Wily's arm whipcracked up straight, and an almost invisible beam of high powered photons crossed the short distance in the room. The gun on Walken's desk exploded into fragments, sending small pieces of shrapnel in all directions. One passed cleanly through his cheek, several more lodged in the HSL leader's hand and arm. Walken let out a shriek of pain, and Wily kept the same placid, almost pleasant expression.

"Now, now." The roboticist sing-songed, waving his pistol back and forth. "Let's not go diving into violence just yet. After all, I came all this way to see you. And it wasn't exactly easy finding you, either. This is the fifth base of yours I've had to visit."

"The fi…you…you warped to them all?" Walken panted, gripping his arm tightly to stem the bleeding. He knew that his guards would be coming soon. The noise of Wily warping in had been very distinct and unusual, and his gun blowing up would have awoken the dead. "I thought…warp teleportation…"

"Wasn't safe?" Wily finished. The man raised an eyebrow, and his sadistic grin widened a touch. "Care to take a ride with me and find out?"

In spite of his pain, Walken still had enough clarity to look at Wily and recognize something venomous. A shadow behind him that he'd never seen behind the man, not even from still photographs taken in the early days of the Second Rainbow. He shivered and gave his head a shake.

"Ah, just as well." Wily shrugged. "Still, it's good that you and I finally meet face to face."

The heavy clip-clop of armed troopers in heavy boots became louder, and Wily's eyes narrowed.

"Friends of yours, Walken?"

"You walk into the lion's den, and you're surprised there's lions?" Walken wheezed. "Your last mistake, Wily."

"No. Yours, if you let them kill me." Wily replied icily. He kept his laser pistol leveled at Walken's chest. "The last four bases I've been to? When I left, a little "present" was warped in immediately after."

Walken's defenders, the heart of the HSL's legion, stormed into their leader's offices, each brandishing an automatic weapon at the intruder. Wily seemed nonplussed, and Walken had a moment to decide.

"Hold your fire!" Walken shouted. His men, though surprised, followed the order.

"That's good, James, that's very good." Wily held up his warp transporter. "If I let go of this thing, or if for some reason I'm killed, this device is pre-programmed to teleport a rather nasty high explosive right where I'm standing. It'll be enough of a charge to kill you, vaporize my body, and take a large chunk of this base with it, including these men of yours behind me. If you try to block the radio signal, it will trigger the bomb teleport as a failsafe. The same applies if you try to destroy it."

He gave them two beats of his steady, unshaken heart for that to sink in, then gave Walken his order. "Now order your men to fall back and leave us be."

Walken stared at the co-founder of LightTech, the creator of so many hated robots.

"You must have balls made of brass to give that command." Walken growled.

Wily narrowed his eyes, and his grip on the laser pistol tightened. "_Tell them. To. Fall. Back. Now."_

Sighing, Walken realized he was afraid to call Wily's bluff. He gave a nod of his head to the men assigned to protect him. "Get out of here. I'll call for you when I need you."

Silently, each thinking murderous thoughts of the roboticist holding their leader hostage, the HSL troopers retreated away.

Still in pain, still bleeding, Walken found the force of will to glower at a man he would have gladly flattened to paste any other day of the week. "All right, Wily. Now what?"

"Ordinarily, I would have been happy to kill you." Wily began casually. "After all, you're either directly or indirectly responsible for the death of Titus Grant, a very good friend of mine. And I'm sure there's plenty of other skeletons in your closet that are punishable offenses."

Wily holstered his laser pistol and took a seat opposite of Walken, as though he was settling into a competitor's office lounge chair instead of a known terrorist. Being careful to keep his teleporting device nestled in his grip and out of reach, he crossed his arms and gave Walken good, long look.

"But I didn't come here today to do the world a favor and wipe you from existence, Walken."

"Funny, I'd be doing the world a favor by killing you." Walken retorted.

"Tomato, to-mah-to." Wily shrugged. "No, James. Today, we have something else on our plates. You and I, Mr. Walken…we need to talk."

A puzzled captive audience, James Walken listened.

And Wily spoke.

* * *

_Dr. Light's House_

_Shugoya Treeborg Preserve, Tokyo, Japan_

_January 5__th__, 2070 C.E._

_10:24 A.M._

The latest news from his special team in LightTech's R&D Labs was promising. They'd spent a lot of time (And eaten a lot of instant noodles) arguing over specific designs, but the ones they'd come up with seemed to follow the LightTech trend; Cartoonish and easy on the eyes. All of them around one and a third meters tall, give or take. Of course, the design he'd made for the energy-controlling model had been kept mostly intact. They'd given it a mask to match the rest of its design, though. A good aesthetic improvement.

The only question they had for him, in the end, was what to name them.

Light sat back in his chair and rocked slowly. He looked up at the ceiling and let the patterns of the past wash over him. A minutes' worth of thought was all it took to make his head start to hurt. Sighing, he sat up straight again and typed in a reply.

_Look into Greek mythology. We had some success in the Second Rainbow with the ZOOS high altitude drones. You come up with the names._

A click of a mouse and the response was off. He heard the front door open, and puzzled as to who it might be, Light meandered out of his laboratory and into the house proper. Eddie wouldn't have let them in if they weren't on the "Safe" list, though.

Light strolled into the living room and immediately relaxed. A refreshed looking Dr. Wily marched in, dragging his travel bag with him. "Al! Welcome back home, buddy."

"Good to be back." Wily said, dropping his bag on the floor and closing the front door. "How was your New Year's? Quiet?"

"Oh, yeah. And how was yours? Things go well with your friend?"

"We tossed around some interesting ideas." Wily smirked. "Oh, and relax. They don't work in our field."

"Well, I wasn't too worried about that." Light waved Wily towards the lab. "Come on, I've got some new things to show you. We're starting on a new branch of robots, and I think you'll be pleased."

Wily's footsteps faltered a half step out of synch behind him, and just like Light had expected, the cheer slipped from Wily's voice.

"Why would I be pleased?"

"I've got our best people at LightTech working on six prototypes with a new modified positronic matrix I came up with. We'll give the world a new generation of robots, able to coordinate and run facilities by themselves. Just like I've been talking about for years."

"More robots?" Wily snorted. "Didn't we just finish with this? Didn't Blues teach you your lesson?"

"They'll be better than Blues, Will!" Light exclaimed. "I learned my lesson, yes! The six they're building at LightTech HQ won't have nearly the same capacity for thought and learning as Blues- they're a mix between the original Advanced robot design and existing models."

Light and Wily marched into the laboratory, and Eddie waddled in after them, curious for what was making his Creators so excitable. Light rambled on for another two minutes, explaining the purpose and expected functionality of the six prototype Advanced mechanoids at their company's main headquarters. Wily listened, with the standoffish, not as interested as his partner would have hoped expression he was famous for.

He didn't fly off the handle about it, though, which Light took as a sign of improvement.

And then Light told Wily of the two Advanced robots he was planning on building for himself. Only Light's ebullient promise, not of hollow good intentions, but a _challenge_, kept Wily's newfound venom in check.

"It'll be the challenge of a lifetime!" Light promised.

Wily exhaled and shook his head. "Why make them look so human, though?"

"Because I want them to inherit this world." Light said. "We always want the best for our children, don't we?"

"I have no children." Wily reminded his friend. "We're turning 57 years old this year, Tom. I would rather do what's best for the world. I have no problems with these six prototype service mechanoids. If they can do for humanity what RD-224 was capable of, then we'll be the better for it. But these last two…you're not limiting their intelligence. If anything, you're increasing it. How do you know they won't go off like Blues did? You told me yourself you never learned what went wrong."

"Well, I have a good idea. Parts of his memory were intact after his reactivation." Light said. "Parts the Core Module reinstall didn't wipe out, which we only had to do because of your Addendum. Somehow, those sectors contained the bulk of his subconscious personality…and they existed outside the Core Module's logic gates. That won't happen with these two. They won't have a modified Core Module like Blues did, they won't have a faulty solar power generator. They won't be like Blues. It'll be different, I know it."

"For your sake, I hope so." Wily looked down at the schematics of the two robots.

**DL#01- **Tool-using robot**  
DL#02- **House-cleaning robot

"I see you're planning on making the house-cleaning robot there a girl." Wily observed. "That's a bit sexist, isn't it?"

"I'll tell you what, then." Light told him. "You can go ahead and work on giving her a start on her personality. I'm sure that anyone who was half as acerbic as you wouldn't take crap from anyone."

"Ooh, there's that challenge." Wily smiled. "And what of that boy robot? Do I get to dig my hands into making it?"

"No. Him, I'll handle personally." Light shook his head, staring at the blueprints. Many things about him were physically the same as Blues had been…But there was something beyond the positronic modifications, the new parts outlaid on the diagram, and even the measurements in that flat image of a robot only just dreamed of.

Light traced the robot's outline, and for a moment, swore he smelled Vanessa's perfume by his shoulder. "He's going to be something special."


	20. Epilogue: Dreams Beyond The Rainbow

_**MEGA MAN: GUIDING RAINBOW'S LIGHT**_

By Eric "Erico" Lawson

**Epilogue: Dreams Beyond The Rainbow**

_Dedicated to the Legacy of Metal co-authors: Patrick Frazier, Justin Sikes, Ben "Maelgrim" Roberts, and Alexander Musa. The shared dreams are the ones that succeed._

_And the ones worth fighting for._

_

* * *

_

_May 12__th__, 2070 C.E._

_Dr. Light's House, Tokyo, Japan_

It was fitting that the prize money he won for the Nobel Prize in Physics would go towards building a new robot. Especially one like this.

Painstakingly, with an artisan's precision and a father's love, Thomas Light had made the Advanced robot to surpass all others. A brand new microfusion generator, courtesy of Dr. Bailey Flynn at EFRI, lay in his creation's chest. Advanced synthskin, layered with hundreds of thousands of bio-mimetic sensory arrays covered the metallic endoskeleton. Highly articulated hands would give the robot fine motor skills that would surpass anything that had come before it, while the powerful servos and hydraulic lines, as close to a bloodstream as the mechanical being could possess, gave it the strength to deadlift hundreds of pounds with ease.

And over all that power and potential, he still resembled an adolescent of barely four and a half feet in height, with raven black hair so dark that every so often Light swore the synthetic follicles possessed a shade of blue. Had the magnetic seal of his chest not been open, Light would have dared anyone to argue that the boy on the operating table wasn't human.

Had his hair not been black, the robot's resemblance to Light in his youth would have been uncanny.

Footsteps softer than Wily's approached him in the laboratory, and Light looked back over his shoulder. He smiled at his visitor.

"Up and around, I see? You're adapting to your environment very quickly, Roll."

The female mechanoid who he'd named Roll was a fetching young girl with blond hair and green eyes, like the mother she'd never known. Complete with a pretty, but appropriate red dress, she looked between Light and the other robot on his worktable…oldest by number, but not by activation.

She pursed her lips and gave him a slightly sardonic look that could have only come from Wily's behavioral algorithms. "Doctor Light, I've been online now for an hour. Moving from the living room to your laboratory isn't a major accomplishment."

He chuckled. "Try and save the vitriol for occasions that deserve it, Roll. I'm just trying to be friendly."

She relaxed and returned his smile. "I apologize. But I have been meaning to ask…I've been speaking with Eddie, and he indicated my "Attitude" wasn't as friendly as he expected. Why is that?"

Light turned back to his work, running the final systems checks. There were a lot of them, too; power distribution relays, safeties, lockdown circuits…

"You'd have to ask Dr. Wily. I made your positronic matrix and installed your Core Module, but he built your initial response sequences. I suspect that he simply wanted you to have a sense of independence, to make it so you wouldn't just fall over yourself trying to be friendly. That's Albert for you, though. He gives his friendship and loyalty only to those who deserve it. Just like…"

He fell silent and looked back at Roll, knowing she would catch the mist in his eyes.

"Just like who, Doctor?" Roll asked, unaware of the woman Light lost thirty years ago.

Light blinked twice to clear his eyes, smiled a little wider, and shook his head. "Never mind."

Roll frowned in thought for a moment more, then shook it off and switched her attention to the robot boy. "So, this is…My brother?" She said, after searching for the most appropriate definitive noun.

"Yes. That's exactly what he is." Light answered softly. "He's your brother, you're his sister, and I'm your…your father."

Roll crossed her arms. "Why did you make us, anyhow? My designation is for housekeeping and general maintenance, but…"

"But why make you so human, if you were just going to be a cleaning robot?" Light finished. Roll's emerald-colored eyes flickered momentarily before she gave a firm nod. Light exhaled and pointed to the raven-haired robot on his worktable. "Sometimes, Roll, humans do things that make no sense. And I'm sure that there is a greater purpose to your life, and to his. What I don't know is what that purpose is. I brought you into the world, and I promise to care for you, to show you what the world is like, to help you reach your potential. Beyond that?" He shrugged.

Roll thought it over. "So I have to discover my own purpose, then?"

A blossoming sensation of warmth ran through Light's heart at her words. It seemed she shared the same trait as his first, lost son. Curiosity, and an ability to grow.

"Something tells me you would have, anyways." Light patted Roll on the shoulder and winked at her. "Now run along. I'm just about ready to turn him on, and I'd like a moment alone with him."

"Sure." Roll said, her response automatic in the face of a Second Law directive. "But don't keep me out of the loop for too long. I'd like to say hello to him as well."

"And I suspect, somebody else here would also." Light replied, glancing towards the laboratory's exit. There, barely in the doorway, Eddie leaned in quietly to stare at them all. When the Fliptop realized he'd been spotted, he disappeared from view.

Roll headed out after the smaller Fliptop, rolling her eyes as she went. "This family is weird." She muttered.

Light turned back to the inactive robot underneath him. "Weird, yes." He said, for himself, but also for the mechanical boy who couldn't yet hear or understand him. "But it's our family. Yours."

He reached down and traced tired, gnarled fingers against the side of the robot's face. "Rock. That's your name." Light smiled, feeling as though he was staring down at a reflection through time.

"You'll never know the world that I came from, who I was. There was a time I looked just like you, a time I had the same wide-eyed innocence you will possess when you first power up." Light leaned back and turned off the overhead lamp. "You won't know about my fiancée, or the life I led. You'll barely know about the Rainbow, or how much we've sacrificed to save the world and bring it to this point. Indiana will just be a dream of a place that used to be."

He laughed for the skip of a beat. "Or how I used to ride a motorcycle, or smoke a pipe. Everyone who came before, it's just going to be a footnote to you. For as important as they all were, they'll just be names of those who are dead or old and on their way to the grave like I am."

Light rubbed at his eyes. "What would Vanessa think of you? Or Schroeder? Rick, Lisa, or Walter? Titus?" He lowered his hand down and picked up his multi-tool. "Al Simdorn. Him and his big ideas. You owe a debt to all of them. I would have never come this far on my own. It's only because they stood behind me, supported me, that I'm here now, working on you."

And what of the robots that had come before, Light thought? What of Kay, or Eddie, or RD-224? What about Blues? They were just as important, he had to agree. Without the lessons he'd learned from them, building them, watching them, all the breakthroughs in robotics and robotology, the study of mechanoid minds, would have never happened. Wily could build bodies like nobody else; he was a genius, an architect of metallic form.

Light's talent, though, had extended farther, into the realm of the positronic matrix. The connections, the artificial synapses and lattices that mapped how a robot thought, reacted.

How they might dream. Somewhere, he believed that there was a soul in silicon.

Light closed the access panels in Rock's arms and in his forehead, leaving only the one in his chest open. "I hope the world has changed enough, Rock." He said. "I don't know if it's ready for a robot like you. Maybe Al's right, after all. But that never stopped me from trying. There are some who say I'm the father of modern robotics."

He reached his multi-tool into Rock's chest cavity and made the final connections between his central power distribution node and the microfusion generator. Only when that was done did he reach for the small, but precious transparisteel tube containing a half gram of refined Tritium; the necessary starter fuel for any fusion generator. He inserted it into the device's feeding vent and paused for two beats to confirm that the external power relays were functioning and providing the necessary energy to sustain the electromagnetic fields within the generator's reactor core.

Satisfied they were running at optimal containment, Light twisted the tube in the port, which unlocked the lid of the tube and the inner seal, and let the Tritium drop into the core. A reverse twist sealed the generator back up, and Light pulled the now empty tube away.

"I don't know if I have the strength of will to be the father to an entire generation of mechanical beings, but I can be a father to you. That much, I can promise you."

He closed Rock's chest panel and held a hand against the synthskin as the magnetic seals locked into place and dissolved the faint lines of the cover.

"I have given you everything I can. All my knowledge, my experience has gone into making you. The mistakes I've made, I've learned from. There will be no glitch with you, no terrible flaw."

He tousled Rock's black hair and beamed. The world may not have been ready for a robot like Rock, but it would adapt. It would have to.

Thirty years had gone by, and Light had seen a world grow sober, earning wisdom through blood and hardship. By _need_, the purest motivation for any technological advancement, robots had been made. Some in the Second Rainbow had refused to accept the changing world and their role in it, and the group had disbanded, but the lessons remained.

The march of time kept to its own pace, and those who believed they could stop it would always fail. The Wars of 2040, despite all the best intentions of Light and Wily, had happened. Every tragedy since had come and gone, heedless of his wishes.

You couldn't stop things from happening, but you could guide them. For that reason alone, the opportunity to make a difference, Light had forced himself to wake up every day and trudge on. Not just for himself, but for those whose lives were influenced by his actions. For those whose lives hadn't come yet.

For those who might be forgotten.

A positive signal from the status monitor connected to Rock indicated that his microfusion generator had reached self-sustainment. He disconnected the external power relays and listened as Rock's body reflexively drew in a breath; drawing in particulate matter from the very air to sustain the microfusion's fuel supply.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but found, for a change, that he had run out of things to say. Somehow, in the face of the first waking moments of Rock, DL#01, any grand statement seemed pitiable.

The activation sequence would be automatic now. With his power supply up and running, Rock's processors would activate of their own accord. The positronic matrix would glow with artificial sentience, running the final systems checks and Core Module diagnostics.

And then the robot would have its first thought.

**I.**

** I am.**

** I am Rock.**

Light pulled his hands back and breathed softly. A new life was being born before him, and he felt rejuvenated, watching it happen. Perhaps his entire life had been nothing but prologue to this moment after all. Maybe this grand act of creation was the most noble, humane deed Thomas Light had ever done in his fifty-seven years. It didn't make him feel great, or accomplished. If anything, standing beside this robot, in its shadow, it only affirmed how small he really was. How fortunate his life had been.

A finger on Rock's right hand twitched, one of the first signs of activation. Light fought the lump in his throat and swallowed, dismissing it as quickly as it had come.

He found his voice again, and all his erudite language evaporated for an instant of clarity.

"Welcome to the world." Light whispered to Rock.

And his eyes of blue opened.

**THE END**


End file.
